


Labyrinth

by Ronja



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Catching Fire AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 138,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta play along with the Capitol's wishes and marry within a year after the 74th Hunger Games. The only thing they refuse to do is have children. At the 91st Hunger Games they find out that Snow can still punish them, even without children of their own. I'm still really bad at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's something I'm just kind of throwing out there... An intro for a story idea that's been in my head for a while but that I haven't fully developed or outlined yet. I don't know of the premise is interesting or not so I thought I'd post it and see if there's any interest.

It's uncommonly cold for late May. 15 degrees centigrade and a cold wind blowing. The girls gathered in front of the justice building are freezing in their dresses, most of which are short-sleeved and/or knee length. The boys fare a little better since many of them are wearing shirts and full-length pants but the majority of them seem to be shivering too. I myself am dressed in weather appropriate clothing decided for me by Lasha, the stylist assigned to us District Twelve mentors seven years ago. That doesn't make me any more comfortable than the children standing there waiting to see which two among them will be sentenced to death today but at least it makes me less cold on the outside.

It's my seventeenth year as mentor. Sixteen previous times have I stood up here and thirty-two children have walked up and joined Haymitch, Peeta and me on the stage. None of them have won their games. I remember each and every one of their faces, each voice and each personality. I can tell you what score they got, how many gifts they received from sponsors and the exact moment when they died. It's all burned into my mind and on a regular basis they come to haunt me in my sleep, blaming their deaths on my inability to protect them.

The back of my hand brushes against the back of Peeta's. I can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring. I put it on his finger in a lavish, ostentatious ceremony sixteen years ago and in return he put a ring on my finger. We never wear the rings except for formal occasions. The marriage was never our own choice, though it was I who suggested it. We had as little say in the matter as all those children standing there waiting for the reaping to begin. And yet we were the lucky ones. Both Peeta and I were considered attractive,  _desirable_ , and had a large number of rich Capitol citizens lusting after us. But star-crossed lovers are a matched set and President Snow had no way of selling our bodies the way he does with so many  _desirable_  victors without ruining the saga of Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve who got their happy ending. He still took from us the right to choose our own partner and to create our own futures but I know we got off much easier than most.

I can't really complain. Peeta and I have grown together, become a true team. He's my best friend and I care about him so much more than he will ever understand. Together with him I have been able to make life bearable and together with him I have found ways to avoid some of the horrors Snow has had in mind by way of means to control us.

Most importantly, together with Peeta I have figured out a way to be able to stand here today and not have a child of my own out there in the crowds. Sixteen years of marriage and no children as a result. It's not because we never sleep together. The Capitol has ways of making sure that we do. Peeta and I have found other ways of protecting ourselves from pregnancy. They're not one hundred percent safe and we both know there's always the risk of conception but we've been able to guard ourselves as best as we can. So far it's worked.

Today there are 312 girls and 292 boys in District 12 whose parents were not so lucky. Two families are about to lose a child and I strongly suspect that those parents will grow to hate Peeta, Haymitch and me. They always do. Most of them are able to hide it but with some it is written plainly in their faces when they look at us. And why shouldn't they feel that way? We live while their children died. We get to enjoy the benefits of being victors, which to those not in the know seems like a life full of money, food and fancy parties in the Capitol. We were the only ones who could help their children in the arena and we weren't able to help them enough. The fact that each year every mentor is guaranteed to lose at least one tribute doesn't seem to make a difference. Grief rarely follows logic.

Emalda Mills, the woman who took over Effie Trinket's job ten years ago, steps up to the microphone and begins the festivities. Even though she's been the District Twelve escort for a decade and I've spent a lot more time with her than with Effie Trinket I feel like I don't know her half as well as I ever did Effie. Emalda started out being in awe of her glorious position in life and seemed to feel she was doing her family proud by being a part of the Hunger Games. It took six years and then the shine was definitely off the apple. Nowadays she is a bitter woman who avoids the tributes at all costs. Once it became real to her that the children she was responsible for were individuals and she got to know them she wasn't able to deal with watching them die. I know it's been eating away at her and that she hates her part in all of it but there's not much she can do about it. Nobody  _quits_  the Hunger Games. If you do you might find yourself another victim of Snow and his regime. Emalda is quite the actress and always manages to seem just the right amount of upbeat and excited whenever a camera is on her face but in private it's a different matter. I think she and I could have bonded, or at least that it would have helped her immensely to get to talk about it all with me or one of my co-mentors but there is always somebody listening and she can't take that chance. Three years ago she turned to drinking and now she's Haymitch's drinking buddy when we're in the Capitol. That doesn't do much to help the tributes.

My face remains emotionless as the girl tribute is drawn. Sally Masters, a Seam girl who looks about fourteen. Tears are falling down her face as she is ushered to the stage. When she shakes hands with us mentors I see in her eyes that she views us as her only shot at survival. The look I give her in return is cold and hard. I don't want her to connect any form of hope with me. I will do everything in my power to help her but ultimately it is up to her. God only knows what the arena will be like, what the gamemakers will come up with to spice up the show and what kind of children will be reaped in other districts.

Sally is led to stand next to Emalda who holds a one minute interview with her that amounts to nothing of interest. The girl is so shocked and the very notion of being able to get a good interview response out of someone in a situation like this is absurd to me. It's almost a relief when Emalda walks over to the boys' reaping bowl and sticks her hand inside. Soon the worst part of the reaping will be over. Once the boy tribute has been called everybody else can relax and I always try my hardest to think of all the families who can celebrate tonight rather than the families who will be mourning.

Emalda's fingers find a slip of paper and she lifts it up, opening the seal and studying it for a second before reading the name in a loud, clear voice.

"Thomas Mellark."

Thomas Mellark. The oldest son of Peeta's younger brother.

"No," I think. "Not him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there seems to be at least some interest in the premise so I decided to keep going, and we'll see how far it ends up leading. This chapter is set before the Quarter Quell, on the eve of Katniss' and Peeta's wedding. As I said on the previous page chapters will alternate between being set in "present day" and being set earlier in the timeline. Hopefully it won't be too confusing.

I don't have the first idea what to say or do when Peeta and I walk inside the bedroom of the honeymoon suite. Most of all I would like to lock myself in the bathroom and cry and not come out for at least a month. At least there are no cameras in the room. Haymitch made sure of it, pulling some strings he somehow had with Plutarch Heavensbee, the man in charge of production for our wedding, to ensure that we get at least some measure of privacy tonight. It's going to be a difficult night as it is, without adding cameras and an excited audience to the mix.

Things have been moving very fast lately and it feels like everything is still spinning. Despite the excitement over the engagement and the voting on which dress I would get married in the plan wasn't for us to get married quite so soon. Neither one of us is nineteen, the legal age of marriage in Panem, and so the idea was to drag the whole planning process out until it would all culminate in a big summer wedding next year. Then things changed with the announcement of the Quarter Quell and we had to speed the process up. President Snow personally granted us a dispensation to be wed so young. My mother made a valiant attempt at postponing, or even preventing, the wedding by stressing how young we both are and how it's madness for two people our age to get married when the love hasn't been tested over time. Nobody cared about her objections and I didn't expect them to but I did appreciate that she tried.

I look over at Peeta and I see the mask he's been wearing all day has finally come off. All day long he has been playing the part of the ecstatic groom, smiling and laughing and saying over and over how happy he is and how he can't believe that this is real and that he loves me so much. The last part may be true to some degree, the middle part is true but not in the way people think and the first part is as far from the truth as it can get. He's not happy. He despises this as much as I do. I didn't understand why at first but Haymitch made me see things through Peeta's eyes. He's essentially getting what he wanted the most but it will never be more than a façade. Forever stuck having the person he loves merely pretending to love him back and being fully aware of it. It would have been easier for Peeta if we had just gone our separate ways and he could have nursed his broken heart and gotten over me. Instead I will always be there, right by his side but not feeling the way he feels. In a way I think Peeta's fate is the cruellest of all the victors'.

"Well..." I say, clearing my throat. I look at the bed with its gaudy red satin sheets and heart-shaped pillows. "We should just... You know..."

"Get to it?" says Peeta in a hollow voice.

I reach out my hand and find his, giving it a light squeeze. As much as what's expected of us scares me I don't want to add any further rocks to his burden. All day long I've been dropping my façade of happiness whenever we've been out of public sight and I could see how it made things worse for him. It's not fair of me to do that so I force myself to disregard my discomfort as much as possible.

"Let's just take it one step at a time," I say. "Let's just go brush our teeth. That's not so overwhelming."

He lets go of my hand and walks towards the oak door on the other end of the room. It's the only door so it must lead to the bathroom. I take another look at the bed and try to fight the discomfort I'm feeling. I've slept in beds with Peeta before. Several times, in fact. It shouldn't be such a big deal to do so tonight as well, only those other times were all perfectly chaste. Peeta never tried to touch me in ways I hadn't invited him to and he never acted as anything other than a friend. The fact is I like sharing my bed with him. I grew up sharing a bed with my sister and the presence of another human being in bed with me is comforting. Having him there to help ward off the nightmares means a lot. I've taken the opportunity to share my bed with him while we've been in the Capitol because I feel so much better when he's there. We even spent last night together, me wrapped in his embrace, trying to draw strength from one another before the wedding we were both dreading.

Tonight is going to be different, though. Tonight he is going to kiss me other places than just my mouth. Tonight he is going to touch me where nobody has touched me before. Tonight he is going to…

I close my eyes hard and try not to think about it. I don't feel ready to have sex. I'm not comfortable with the idea of another person being that intimate with me. I know Peeta will be gentle and careful and all of that but it doesn't make much of a difference. I'm not ready to have sex with  _anybody_.

Is Peeta looking forward to it? There must be some part of him that wants this, even though he would have wanted it to happen because I chose to do it with him. He's a seventeen year-old boy who will be getting to have sex with the girl he's been in love with for a long time. I would never call myself an expert on boys but it seems to be pretty well established that guys Peeta's age are very interested in sex and will eagerly engage in the activity whenever opportunity arises. Will he be eager? Will he know what to do? Has he done this before with other girls? I find myself hoping that he hasn't. It seems more bearable if we're both beginners at this it's not something he's already shared with other girls. For some reason just the thought of him doing things like that with somebody else rubs me the wrong way.

Will he enjoy it? Will I live up to expectation? A blush creeps across my face when I think about it. I don't have the first idea what I'm supposed to do tonight. It can't be as easy as just lying there. The guy can't be expected to do all the work. I've overheard enough man talk to know that women can be good or bad in bed which means I'm expected to perform as well. But perform how exactly? What if I'm not good? And on the flip side, what if I  _am_  good? I've seen Peeta cry, I've seen him sick and hurt to the point of being near-death, I've seen him happy, I've seen him angry and I've seen him frightened. I've never seen him experiencing  _pleasure_. It seems so… intimate. Am I ready to see, feel and hear him in such an intimate moment? I'm not so sure that I am.

Last but not least there's the worry about what sex can lead to. The whole purpose of sex from a biological standpoint. I can't even count how many people have come up to us today and talked about how romantic it would be if we had a honeymoon baby, whatever that means. Half of Panem seems to be circling their calendars for nine months from now, hoping or expecting for me to be delivering a baby at that time. No doubt Plutarch Heavensbee would be called in to produce the televised birth. I cannot deal with that. I will have to find some way of preventing that. Tonight all I can do is pray fervently that a pair of first-timers won't be able to make a baby. My cycle is unpredictable at best so I have no way of knowing if I am especially fertile right now or if we're relatively safe. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, which is unbearable in the midst of everything else.

The bathroom door opens and Peeta comes back to the bedroom. I tear my eyes from the bed and realize I've been standing here for a while. I begin to walk towards the bathroom to get myself ready. Peeta doesn't look at me, sitting down on the bed to remove his shoes. I can't tell what he's thinking or feeling other than that he's uncomfortable too. I almost wish he wasn't. I would feel better if he was calm and okay.

I take my time in the bathroom, carefully washing the makeup off my face and spending ten minutes undoing the elaborate bun my hair is up in. When my teeth have been brushed I reach behind me to unzip my dress and I realize I can't reach the zipper on my own. I'm going to have to ask Peeta to help me. Well that should at least bring about some form of natural progression of events. I wonder if he will move my hair to the side to reach the zipper and if he will lean in and kiss my neck. He's allowed to now. We're legally married. Panem law dictates that a husband can demand sex from his wife, and vice versa. Removing the legal possibility of rape within marriage brings more possibilities for conception and furthering our numbers. He can touch me wherever he wants to, whenever he wants to. In public he will be more or less required to, to uphold the charade. I wonder how often he will go for it when it's just him and me.

I walk back out to the bedroom to find that Peeta has removed the bedspread and snuffed out the candles that were lit all over the room, making the room smell faintly of smoke. Only two candles are left and he bends over to blow them out as well.

"No, don't!" I say. He looks up at me, surprised. "They'll wonder how come the candles didn't get to burn down."

"We snuffed them out before we went to bed," answers Peeta. "We didn't want to have to get out of bed after to blow them out."

The way he casually says it makes a chill run down my spine. I swallow and let him finish with the candles. Then I turn my back to him.

"Unzip me?"

He walks over and stops right behind me. His hand reaches up and moves my hair to the side. Another shiver runs down my spine, more pleasant this time. His hand grazes my skin lightly and it's not entirely unpleasant either. Then he finds the zipper and pulls it down. Once it's all the way down he takes a step back and lets me shimmy out of the gown on my own.

"That's a nice dress," says Peeta, an odd tone in his voice. "Cinna's very talented."

"He is," I say hoarsely, feeling awkward as I'm stepping out of the dress and standing here with only a slip on.

Peeta doesn't say anything else. From the corner of my eye I can see him moving around the room as he removes his clothes, keeping only the boxers on. He normally sleeps in boxer briefs and a t-shirt but tonight he won't be sleeping in anything at all. Both of us seem to find it all a bit awkward and he keeps his underwear on and I'm still in my slip as we get under the covers.

I don't know how I expected this all to happen but this was not quite what I had assumed. We're just lying there, side by side, not even touching. My hands are on the comforter, playing awkwardly with a seam that runs through the red satin. Peeta reaches over and turns off the lamp on his nightstand and the room falls into darkness. I can hear him shifting in the bed and I feel myself stiffen as I wait to feel his touch underneath the covers. This is silly. I'm used to feeling his body next to mine beneath the comforter. Why should this feel so awkward?

I keep waiting but his touch doesn't come. My eyes are beginning to get accustomed to the darkness and I turn my head towards him, finding him on his back staring at the ceiling with an expression I can't read.

"So…" I say, eager to get started. The anticipation is killing me and I would rather just have it over with. Losing my virginity is something I never thought would happen and from what I hear it can be unpleasant even in the best of circumstances. I want it to be done so I can go to sleep and try to forget that we're now nothing but a pair of breeders for President Snow.

"So," says Peeta.

"Shouldn't we just… get on with it?"

His head turns and he looks at me. I was expecting nervousness, love, shyness, excitement, trepidation, arousal or any combination thereof. Instead he looks irritated.

"Nothing's going to happen," he says in a mildly annoyed tone. "You can relax. I'm not going to touch you."

Surprisingly the feeling that comes over me is not relief. Instead I feel perplexed and a little bit rejected and I lift myself up on an elbow to frown at him.

"I don't understand," I say. "We're married now. We're supposed to be… you know…"

"We're not going to," says Peeta with determination. "They can force us into marriage but they are not going to make me rape you."

I don't know what to say. It is the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth right now. After a moment of blinking and trying to find something to say, anything at all, I manage to form a reply.

"You… wouldn't be raping me."

"Of course I would be," he snorts. "What, you  _want_  me? Are you horny right now? If there were no government, no pressure, no outside forces, would you be wanting to have sex with me tonight?"

"No. But…" It didn't occur to me how difficult this would be for him, that he could see things in that light. I try to picture how it would feel. Feeling like you were expected to force yourself on a person you care deeply about, against their wishes. I don't want him to feel like that but in a way he's right. I don't want to have sex tonight. It's just that it's not Peeta I feel is forcing himself on me. It's Snow and his whole regime. Peeta is just another victim, same as me. "But we have to," I manage to say.

"Why?" questions Peeta. "Says who? What are they going to do, give you an exam tomorrow to check and see that your virginity is lost? You can't physically tell that anyway. The only thing that matters to them is that other people think we're screwing like bunnies tonight."

"Maybe that's enough for right now," I say tentatively, trying not to feel weird about the words and phrases he's using. It's unlike him to be so… crude. "It won't be forever. You know we're expected to…" I trail off, unable to mention the unmentionable. I know that Peeta doesn't want us to have children anymore than I do because he knows full well that our kids would end up in the arena.

"Do you  _want_  to have sex, Katniss?" Peeta asks again, the faintest hint of hopefulness in his voice.

"No." I lay back down again, staring at the ceiling instead of at my husband. The fact that the word  _husband_  describes his relationship to me now is something I don't know if I'll ever grow accustomed to. "I don't feel ready. I mean I've never even… done any of that kind of stuff. Just kissing. I'm not prepared for going further than that but I don't think that will matter to President Snow."

"Nevertheless," says Peeta and I feel him shifting on the bed. "They can force me to kill but they can't force me to rape. I don't think I could even… physically perform right now. So you can relax and go to sleep."

My cheeks feel like they're burning when he hints at physically performing. I've never given much thought to that aspect of him before, though I've woken up a few mornings feeling his hardness pressing against me. He's always been asleep so I never put a sexual connotation to it. Now suddenly it's different.

I turn my head again to look at him and to my surprise he's lying with his back to me. Rejection suddenly courses through my veins, irrational as it may be. I was dreading sex tonight but oddly enough finding out that Peeta refuses to do it and maybe even  _can't_  do it tonight and now has his back turned to me makes me ridiculously annoyed. What, now we can't sleep in each other's arms anymore? That's absurd. Why does he think he might not be able to perform? Is there something wrong with my body? Is his love for me so noble and chaste and too  _pure_  for physical stuff?

Of course I know that's not the case. Deep down I understand how difficult this must be for him and that the idea of forcing himself on me is probably what's keeping him from getting aroused. It's the back turned to me that hurts more than anything else. Well, two can play at that game. With a huff I roll over on my side so that my back is turned to him. In doing so I realize that the comforter isn't nearly as big as you would expect in a bed like this. Apparently even the damn bedclothes are designed to keep us physically close. As I wrap the comforter around myself I pull it away from Peeta. He grabs it and gives it a tug to cover himself. He doesn't pull it back very far, I'm still able to cover myself, but all the frustration and anxiety and desolation I've been feeling over the past year is threatening to boil over and I give the comforter a forceful tug that no doubt leaves him with very little of it.

I hear him sigh and brace myself, expecting a childish tug-o-war for the comforter. When nothing has happened in about a minute I shift a little so I can look over my shoulder and see what is going on. Peeta is lying there, two feet away from me, only half of him covered by the comforter. He seems to have decided not to play and to let me win this round even though it's fairly chilly in the room and he's only wearing boxers and for a second I'm even angrier at him for being such a martyr.

Then I start to feel bad and I roll over on my other side again so that I'm facing him. I sit up a little and move the comforter so that it covers him as well as me. Then I lay back down again, a little bit closer to him now but still with space between us. I close my eyes and try my hardest not to cry and to just go to sleep.

It's harder than I thought to drift off to sleep tonight. Peeta's back is still turned to me and he's very obviously upset, though I don't think it's fair that he's taking it out on me. Our forced marriage is not off to a good start and for the first time I start to wonder what the rest of our lives will really be about. I thought I was at least going into this with a friend and ally but maybe this is going to end up making us dislike one another and harvest only bitterness between us. Maybe this is another strategy by Snow. Taking Peeta away from me by chaining him to me.

Even I have to give that credit for being really clever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter, and with several other "flashback" chapters that I've done work on, because I really don't want it to be too similar to TGS. Let me know if you feel I'm starting to slip into that territory and I'll try my best to steer it back out again.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

 

I'm shivering almost as much as the girls down there beneath the stage, suddenly feeling as cold as if I were naked. My mouth is completely dry and it's like I've had the wind knocked out of me, similar to how I felt that day seventeen years ago when Effie Trinket called Prim's name at the reaping. Only this time there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Not him. Not Tommy. Ryean's oldest boy, fifteen years of age, just a child. It dawns on me in this insane moment how naive we have been. We've been getting too cocky lately and presumably need to be put in our place. We thought we had protected ourselves by not having children but of course Snow could find a way to get to us anyway. I've long stopped believing in  _odds_  playing any part when the child of a victor gets reaped. The chances of that happening as often as it does is just too miniscule. Tommy's name being called today cannot be a coincidence. Peeta and I have failed to give Snow a star-crossed lovers' love child so he chose the next best thing.

I can't look at Peeta. I can't look out at the crowds either for fear that my eyes might land on my in-laws. It's been less than two seconds since Emalda read the name and already I am playing my cards with skills acquired over seventeen years of participating in the Games in some form. My face reads completely calm and composed, absolutely no show of the shock and devastation I feel. I will not give them that satisfaction.

I manage fairly well in the first moments. The shock probably helps as I feel almost numb as I watch Tommy walk towards the stage, peacekeepers right behind him. I get an eerie sense of déjà vu. He takes after his mother Maggie more than he does his father which means he doesn't look like the spitting image of his uncle seventeen years ago but it's still a Mellark boy, a strong and stocky boy with ashen curls and blue eyes who walks towards the stage, shock and desolation written on his face. I see him climb the stairs, see him greeted by Emalda and then I get a good look at his face as he moves slowly over to us, his mentors. He is ghostly pale, panic stricken. Haymitch only gives him a nod and a hark, Peeta puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it and then the boy is standing in front of me.

The look in his eyes hurts but it's not enough to make me break my composure. Then he speaks and when I hear the frightened, pleading tone in his voice I'm unable to keep my indifferent mask on.

"Aunt Niss..."

Him and his siblings and cousins have called me Niss since they were little and unable to pronounce my full name. The oldest of them took to calling me Niss and the others never thought of me having a different name until they got older. Tommy started calling me Katniss a few years ago and hearing him revert back to his old name for me makes it impossible to escape how young and vulnerable and frightened he is. It makes it impossible to ignore what we now stand to lose.

I resist the urge to hug him, knowing we need to give off a stronger impression in front of the cameras. Praying that my voice will hold I put a hand on the back of his neck and give him what I hope is an encouraging look.

"It will be okay," I tell him in a low voice, meant for his ears only. "You're strong. There's hope."

Then he's being ushered to the front of the stage where he's forced to shake Sally's hand as the ceremony continues. I force myself to look straight ahead. If there were no cameras and no people around I would turn to Peeta but I can't under the circumstances. I can't even share a quick glance with him to gather strength, nor can I take his hand in mine and find the reassurance the small gesture always brings. Him and I both stand with solemn faces and our hands clasped in front of us, backs straight, acting like this reaping is no different than any other. We won't give Snow or the audience the satisfaction of revealing our true emotions. It wouldn't help Tommy anyway if we did.

When Emalda finally wraps everything up we follow her and the two scared children inside the Justice Building. The second we hear the doors slam behind us I grab Peeta's arm and turn my head to look at him. He looks as pale as Tommy did outside. Knowing him as well as I do after more than a decade and a half of marriage I can see he's on the verge of tears but he manages to hold it back. He knows he needs to be strong now. Strong for his nephew and his brother and the rest of the extended family. For the second time his parents and his brothers will have to come back here to say goodbye to a beloved boy, knowing that his chance of survival is practically non-existent. The last time he came home, in spite of everything, but the odds are not in favour of a repeat performance.

 

 

 

As mentors we are not allowed to see the tributes until they board the train. Not even mentors whose own children are reaped get to see them while they're still at the Justice Building. That rule has never seemed more arbitrary and stupid to me than it does right now. Peeta and I will be able to see Tommy soon but I don't want to have to wait until he's on board the train to see how he's doing. If it were my own child I would be livid over not getting to comfort him or her in this moment.

We're still standing out in the hallway when a side door opens and nearly the entire Mellark clan enters together with Tommy's maternal grandparents and aunt. Peeta's mother, Ryean and his wife and their two younger children, Scotti and his wife. I realize Scotti's four children are not here but that's just as well. They are ages fourteen, eleven, nine and eight so the oldest, Claire, is probably with her friends congratulating each other on not getting reaped. Not that she will be in the mood to celebrate tonight.

"Peeta!" Maggie exclaims when she sees us. "Katniss!"

There are tears falling down her face as she throws her arms around me. I pat her back awkwardly and mumble something vaguely soothing, not sure how to comfort her in this moment. Peeta gives his brother a quick hug and a pat on the shoulder blade but he seems even more uncomfortable than I am right now. Ryean looks grim, more angry than anything else. I don't know what to say to him either.

"Maggie," I say, pulling back from the embrace and giving my sister-in-law a firm look. "Get a hold of yourself. Tommy is in there waiting to see you and he needs to see that you're strong. Don't let him see you cry, okay?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?" barks a peacekeeper named Thaddeus, making us all jump. "Right this way."

He ushers the parents down a corridor to a room I've never been inside, the room they keep the male tributes in. Tommy's two younger siblings follow behind them, both looking shocked, staring down at the floor and not speaking a word. I follow them with my eyes until Peeta's voice brings me back to where I am.

"Come," he says. "Let's not stand here and wait. There's a room where the mentors can wait if we don't want to go straight to the train."

Nobody says anything but we all follow him to the room where Peeta, Haymitch and I sometimes sit together to gather strength and courage before going to meet our tributes on the train. It's a large room, normally used as an office for the head peacekeeper, and it has a large couch and two armchairs on which Peeta's family sit down.

Nobody says anything at first. Peeta stands by the writing desk, gripping it with his hands and leaning some of his weight back against it. His face is still pale and he looks bewildered. I want to go up and wrap my arms around him, hold him close and do whatever I can to ease is pain. I want him to ease mine in return. I just don't feel comfortable doing that in front of my in-laws. I almost wish Peeta hadn't brought them in here. I wish we were alone, just him and me and possibly Haymitch. I need Peeta to hold me right now, as much as he needs me to hold him. That boy is precious to me too even if he's not my relative by blood.

"You'd better get him back alive, Peeta," Scotti finally says. His voice is low and angry.

"You know I can't promise you that," says Peeta in a hoarse whisper.

"That is our  _nephew_!" Scotti barks.

"Peeta and Katniss want him back alive as much as you do," says Tommy's maternal grandfather in a remarkably calm tone. "They'll do whatever they can."

"We don't know who he will be up against," Peeta points out. He shifts a little, leaning against the desk with his arms now folded over his chest. "A lot depends on the competition. We'll do whatever we can but..."

He looks at me, desperation written in his eyes. I know he's thinking what I'm thinking. Mentoring your relative is every victor's nightmare. I should probably be grateful that Prim hasn't been able to get pregnant but it really doesn't make much of a difference. Ryean's and Scotti's children are my nieces and nephews too, just the same as any child of Prim's would have been. I've known them since they were born. I've watched them grow and been there for milestone moments. I love them, just as I would have loved a child of Prim's. I don't want to see them get hurt.

Nobody seems to know what to say after that. We sit there in silence, just waiting for time to pass, dreading the moment when the peacekeepers will open the door and fetch Peeta and me to go to the train. Peeta or I should be saying something encouraging or comforting but neither one of us can come up with anything to say. We know so well the horrors that await Tommy and we know that we are as good as powerless to help him.

After half an hour the door opens and we all look up. Ryean and his family walk in, looking like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. For the past fourteen years there has been a system in place where anyone who wants to say goodbye to a tribute has to sign up to do so and they allot how much time each person or group gets to spend in that desolate room. Ryean, Maggie and their children got half an hour since they are the closest family. Maggie's parents and sister get fifteen minutes and the rest of the Mellarks get fifteen as well. Too little time for too many people to come say goodbye. I'm not an advocate for letting large groups of people see the reaped child because I've found it gets too overwhelming for the poor girl or boy. Cousins, aunts and the like should take a step back and just let the closest family and friends be there.

On the other hand I find a form of beauty in the thought of how many people come to say goodbye to some of the children who are reaped. A testament to how many people care, that the life about to be lost is worth something.

Ryean and Maggie sit down on the couch, both looking crestfallen. Their youngest, Fanny, climbs up on her mother's lap despite being ten years old and too grown to do so. Maggie lets her be but barely seems aware that she's there. Most likely they've just spent time with their son for the last time. For a few minutes nobody says anything but then Ryean looks up and glares at Peeta, looking very much like their mother when he makes that face.

"You're going to have to get him back," he says coldly. "This is my son we're talking about. And you're his mentor."

"It's not that easy Ryean," I say quietly.

"You  _have_  to get him back," Ryean repeats, his voice now louder. "You can, I  _know_  you can. You got out of there yourself."

"Ryean we're going to do everything we can and I wish I could promise you that you'll have your boy back home safely a month from now but I just can't make that promise," says Peeta with exasperation. "I don't want to see him die in the arena any more than you do but nothing is for certain."

"That's not  _good enough,_ " barks Ryean. He used to be more soft-spoken but over the past few years his tone has grown harsher. Right now there's none of the softness there. "I will not watch my son get killed, do you hear me?"

"Tommy is in great hands," I break in. I can't make promises either but I see no harm in giving them a little bit of reassurance. "Peeta and me and Haymitch. We know how to work the system, how to play the game behind the scenes. It always comes down to the tribute in the end but Tommy's a Mellark and your brother proved to Panem seventeen years ago that they are made from tough material." I try to sound calm and reassuring. "We'll do everything in our power, Ryean."

Maggie breaks down crying and Tommy's siblings start snivelling as well. I look over at Peeta and again fight the urge to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him.

"Why is this happening?" sobs Maggie, burying her face in Fanny's blonde curls. Ryean begins to rub his hand down her back but he doesn't have a very comforting look on his face. "There's already been a tribute in this family. Why is this happening to us?"

"The odds just aren't in our favour," says my mother-in-law in a bitterly cold tone of voice. She's standing by the window, looking out at the street, seeming detached from what's going on.

"There's no use questioning it," says Peeta in an uncomfortable tone. His eyes are focused on the trashcan by the side of the writing desk, anything to not have to look at his family. "Prim got reaped when she only had one slip in the reaping ball. Others have over fifty slips their final year and they don't get picked. There's no sense in it. None at all."

Ryean lifts his head and gives Peeta a look just as Peeta turns his face towards his brother. Something passes by the brothers in that look, something I can feel but I most certainly can't interpret. Peeta breaks away almost instantly, leaving his spot at the desk and sticking his hands in his back pockets as he walks over to a bookshelf, staring at the books without seeing them.

"Maybe we should try and think positive here," says Allie, Scotti's wife. She's a calm, level-headed woman who often rubs me the wrong way because she never seems to question anything and just lets other people lead her along but she also possesses a calm that prevents her from getting too worked up about things. Right now that calm might be exactly what we all need.

"What the hell is positive about this?" snorts Ryean.

"At least Tommy has his aunt and uncle with him," says Allie. "That must be a comfort to you. He won't be alone in the Capitol."

"What good will that do him once he's in the arena?" questions Ryean, glaring at Peeta's back.

"At least he will have mentors who are really fighting for him."

Nobody says anything else for a while after that. Several people in the room are crying. There's a lot of tension in the air and I wish the hour could be up already. I want to retreat to the train and lock myself in mine and Peeta's compartment and hide from the ugly truth for as long as I can, curled up in Peeta's embrace. But when this hour does end I won't be getting any such luxuries. The moment we've boarded the train it is up to Peeta and I to take care of Tommy. I envy Allie and Scotti. They get to say their goodbyes and then go home and grieve. Peeta and I must carry Tommy through this upcoming week and on our shoulders lies the burden of making sure he's as prepared for the Games as possible. It's a horrible responsibility to have, though if you ask the Capitol it's a great honour.

I look at my husband, standing a few yards away from me, still staring at the backs of the books. Can we do this, him and me? Can we mentor Tommy successfully? And if we can't, what then? What do we do if we have to return back home and face all the people in this room and Tommy's not with us?

Slowly I walk over to the writing desk and take a seat on the leather chair. The ticking of the clock is almost drowned out by the sobs from the people in the room but I know time will fly by fast now. In seven days the Games will begin and Tommy Mellark might be dead. We've lost fifteen tributes in the cornucopia bloodbath. That's almost half the children we've mentored.

What does that say about our odds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapters. They'll get longer, I promise =)  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"Do try to  _smile_ , Katniss," Effie sighs dramatically. "You're departing for your honeymoon. This is the happiest time of your life."

She says the last sentence in such an upbeat tone that you'd think she actually meant it. It still doesn't make me smile. Not yet. Once we're out in public I will play my part as best I can but there's no reason to do so just yet.

"I don't even know what a honeymoon  _is,_ " I say sullenly.

"It's where newlyweds go on a month-long holiday together," chirps Effie. "Getting some time away together, celebrating their new marriage…" She pinches my chin with a smile. "Enjoying the marital bliss, if you get my drift… Wouldn't it be just  _lovely_  to be able to announce the impending birth of your first lovechild four weeks from now?"

In the corner of my eye I can see Peeta turning his face away, his jaw clenched. My face feels flush suddenly and I hate myself for reacting that way. I don't understand Effie Trinket. Does she realize that this marriage is a fraud? Does she honestly believe in the star-crossed lovers? Or does she think that marrying one another made us magically find true love?

"Now, I know you're both tired, not having gotten much sleep last night…" continues Effie, fussing with the collar of my coat.

Well she's right about that. I barely got any sleep at all, though not for the reason people would expect. I almost can't stop myself from snapping at her that there was no physical act to consummate the marriage but I hold my tongue. Peeta probably won't appreciate that I make it known to others that we aren't having sex yet, even though I would have let him sleep with me if he had wanted to. He might be determined to never take that step with me but I have a feeling Snow's determination is stronger than Peeta's.

"When you walk to the train put on your happy faces," says Effie cheerfully. "Look tired, but happy. That is absolutely perfect!"

"How long is this trip going to be?" asks Peeta.

"A month, dear. Aren't you listening?"

"A month?" He looks rather sceptical. "They're sending us away to do nothing at all for a full month? Why not just let us go back home?"

"You won't be doing nothing at all," smiles our escort. "You and Katniss will be having a lovely time."

"Sure… How many cameras will be on us?"

Effie averts her eyes and I can see that Peeta is getting annoyed. I'm not too happy either right now.

"I thought you said it was a private, romantic trip," I say.

"There won't be cameras in your  _bedroom,_ " says Effie. "Haymitch had to pull some strings and throw a… giant fit… But there will be no cameras in the bedroom. Having a few cameras on you while you're outdoors is not so bad."

I look over at Peeta, feeling completely horrified. He's glaring at Effie, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"Why in the world would they  _want_  to put cameras in our  _bedroom_?"

Effie doesn't answer his question. She puts on a great big smile, walks behind us and ushers us closer to the doors while reminding us to smile and be as happy as only newlyweds can be. Happy is the last thing either one of us is right now. I'm mortified by the thought of Snow and his goons having wanted to film us in bed together. I couldn't live with the idea of other people watching Peeta and I have sex and I don't dare to think of what would happen if they found out we  _weren't_  having sex on our honeymoon.

"Right. Now." Effie claps her hands. "Happy smiles!"

It must be pure reflex or something because a smile appears on my face and I take Peeta's hand as the doors open. The next thing I know we're being ushered through a crowd of well-wishers, handed bouquets of flowers, being blown air-kisses. People are waving and yelling for us and everyone seems so excited. It's one of the most bizarre experiences yet. What empty lives these people must lead, to get so excited about seeing off a pair of young newlyweds as they embark on what is bound to be an excruciatingly boring trip. Several people reach out their hand to me and at first I think they want to shake my hand but it turns out they're actually interested in groping the wedding ring on my left ring finger. After the first four people have done so I refuse to reach out my hand again, feeling like they are invading my personal space too much when they finger the jewellery like it's a talisman. It's a relief when I feel Peeta's hand at the small of my back, ushering me towards the train. Once we are on board there's a slight ringing in my ears as the commotion is blocked out and there is only silence.

Peeta and I share a look. Neither one of us really knows what we're supposed to do now. He's the first one to move, walking away down a corridor without asking me to join him. I don't know where he's headed or if he even knows that himself. Maybe he just wants to be apart from me for a bit. We won't get much time away from each other this following month. Or really for the following lifetime.

I walk slowly down the same corridor, watching the city flash by as the train picks up speed. We're headed for District 4 for the first leg of the honeymoon and then we'll be in District 7. Apparently the beach is the perfect romantic setting and the woods of Seven offer privacy and recluse. That is of course one big joke as there will be cameras on us as soon as we leave the cottage that's being arranged for us but I guess we can bypass that by staying indoors for the most part. Yet I can't imagine being cooped up with Peeta inside a small cottage for what might be two weeks or more. I need my space and I think he needs his as well.

We don't see each other until it's dinner time. It's the longest we've been apart since we left District 12. A lavish table arrangement is waiting for us in the dining cart and with a rather large touch of disappointment I note that we're probably not going to be served any large portions of food. The table is so small that our knees might actually touch underneath the table and since the food has to compete for space with three vases of roses and a two candles in tall silver candlesticks there's not room for more than a small serving.

Since there are servants in the room Peeta puts on a smile and takes my hand in his. I manage a smile in return but I can't help but voice my immediate concerns.

"Where is the food going to go?"

"We'll find out, I guess."

We walk up to the table and he pulls out a chair for me to sit. When he takes his own seat opposite me our knees do in fact touch. There are four waiters in the room and they're all flocking around us which makes me nervous because we're going to have to try and carry out a believable conversation and I don't have the first idea what kind of things newlyweds like to talk about. Maybe I can just giggle a lot and bat my eyes and let Peeta do the talking.

After sparkling water has been poured for us and a tiny plate with the smallest slice of bread, garnished with tomato and basil, has been set in front of each of us Peeta turns to the head waiter.

"If you don't mind, Katniss and I would like to have some privacy." He gives me a suggestive smile. "We have… special things to talk about."

I blush and look away, which is probably a good response when I think about it, and the waiter nods his head.

"Yes of course."

After a minute or two all four of them have left, announcing that they will return in fifteen minutes with the main course, leaving Peeta and me to ourselves.

"This is not going to be a stilted month at all," comments Peeta in a tone that brings a small smile to my face.

"I thought the Capitol was all about lavishness and serving so much food you need to puke once or twice to gobble everything down," I reply, taking a sip from my glass of water.

"They didn't even give us any fine booze," notes Peeta. "At the wedding it was all champagne, all the time. Now we get water?"

" _Sparkling_  water, dear."

He chuckles and I smile. At least for a moment it feels like normal between us. Then I look down at my piece of bread and the smile is gone.

"This thing wouldn't have fed me when I was two," I complain.

"Maybe it's a thirty-course meal?" suggests Peeta. He picks up the silver cutlery and makes a point to elegantly cut a small slice of his bread in the same way Effie Trinket would have. "Another Capitol tradition, perhaps? Kick of the honeymonth by having one course for each day you'll be gone."

"Honey _moon,_ " I correct him.

"Married for a day and already you're a nag," Peeta awkwardly jokes, and rolls his eyes as he puts the bread in his mouth. "Mmm… You can almost taste something."

I chuckle and grab my own slice of bread with my fingers and stick half of it in my mouth at once. It only takes a minute for us to have finished eating it and then we look around the room impatiently. My stomach growls and Peeta looks at the large mahogany clock on the wall.

"Just thirteen minutes till the next course, then."

"By the time they've served one full meal we'll have already digested half of it," I sigh.

 

 

 

We end up having a rather nice dinner, all things considered. Getting to be alone together without having to pretend and without having any pressure to do what married couples normally do we can both relax a little. They serve us meat and a salad for dinner and it tastes really good and there's enough food to make us full. They're still only serving us sparkling water and I don't understand why until they bring about desert. A plate of crackers and grapes is set out in-between us and then they set a plate with three kinds of delicious looking cheeses in front of Peeta. Nothing in front of me. The waiter moves to leave the room and I begin to realize that the cheese is for Peeta alone.

"Hey!" I call out. "Excuse me. How come I don't get any cheese?"

"It wouldn't be good for the baby, madam."

I don't know what offends me more – being denied food on account of a baby they seem to be presuming I'm carrying after only night of marriage, or being called  _madam_  at the age of seventeen.

"But I'm not pregnant!" I object.

"Don't know that for sure, madam."

He bows and leaves. I turn to Peeta, feeling absolutely furious and expecting him to feel the same way. He's leaned back in his chair looking sad, almost miserable, eyes fixated on a spot on the floor.

"Can you believe that?" I exclaim. When he doesn't answer I frown deeper. "Peeta!"

He looks up at me.

"This is what it's going to be like all the time. Every single time we eat something courtesy of the Capitol. The whole damn world crossing their fingers, studying your waistline."

"What? This is just Snow messing with us. It's got to be. There's no way I  _could_  be pregnant after only one night anyway."

"One night can be more than enough to conceive a child," Peeta replies, and I would blush at that if I wasn't so mad.

"According to my mother the baby isn't necessarily  _conceived_  the same day as you have sex. Because the… you know, can just… I mean it doesn't always…" I make impatient gestures with my hands, trying to get my point across but clearly only confusing Peeta who looks at me like I'm in the middle of an insane mime show. Before the wedding my mother gave me a brief explanation to how to track my cycle which included informing me that semen can live for days inside a woman's body and conception can take place days after intercourse. It was one of the most awkward conversations of my life, even though I got that the point was that just tracking my cycle isn't a reliable method of birth control. I'm too embarrassed to say the actual words to Peeta so I keep trying to make him understand on his own. "The way guys work… The way girls work… You know what I'm trying to say!"

"What was in your water?" asks Peeta, clearly not having a clue what I'm talking about.

"Just forget it," I snarl. "It doesn't even matter."

"You brought it up."

I reach across the table and grab the plate of cheese. Peeta doesn't object, folding his hands on his lap and avoiding to look at me. The previous comfortable mood is gone and all I can think about, probably all both of us can think about, is what is expected of us. Becoming parents. Bearing children. Giving Snow sacrificial lambs for slaughter in the Hunger Games in a little bit more than a decade.

My children. My children with Peeta. I glance up at him while I stuff cheese into my mouth. I can't stop a sudden rush of curiosity. Having children is the last thing that I want but what would a baby by Peeta look like? A tiny little thing with curly ashen hair and big blue eyes? Having a child of mine that's fathered by him die in the arena would be the ultimate revenge from Snow, wouldn't it? Yes I saved Peeta but instead I have to watch a younger version of him, one I gave birth to, be killed in some horrible fashion while the whole country looks on.

"I used to want children," says Peeta suddenly. "Of course I've always known they could be reaped and all, but I like children and I would have liked to have some."

I stop chewing the cheese and fixate my eyes on him. I have a strong feeling he's about to tell me something about himself that he hasn't revealed to anyone yet. That he's about to let me in and bring us one step closer to one another. Then he looks a bit startled, as if remembering where we are and that just about anyone might be listening.

"I say we have at least a dozen," he declares with fake cheer. "After all, we have a big house and we know we'll be able to feed them."

"A dozen?" I exclaim, fully aware that we are now acting again but still rather taken aback. "There's no way I'm giving birth to twelve children. Not unless I get to do it at a hospital in the Capitol, numb from the waist down."

He smiles weakly at me and I return the smile. I make a mental note to someday find out what he was really going to say.

 

 

 

The house they have arranged for us in Four is located by the beach, ideally suited for long romantic walks along the shoreline at sunset and other such activities. The house itself is about half the size of the houses we live in in the Victors' Village, and about one third of it consists of an enormous bedroom. It doesn't make sense to me that such a large bedroom should be romantic or erotic because the large spaces seems to remove every bit of intimacy. Whatever intimacy might survive the size of the room is swiftly killed by the floor-to-ceiling windows that covers an entire wall, giving us a perfect view of the beach but also giving anyone walking by a perfect view of us. The first thing Peeta does is draw the large, red curtains shut so that nobody can see inside the room.

"Snuggly, isn't it?" he comments, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm going to go have a look around," I announce.

He shrugs and walks out of the room. I take my time exploring the house, finding I approve of the sunny kitchen and the actually quite beautiful sitting room. It too has floor-to-ceiling windows and it makes the room seem very bright and uplifting. Most of the furniture is either white or made of beech wood and/or glass and there are several vases with pink orchids around the room. I can imagine sitting here in the evenings, enjoying the view of the sunset. There's no fireplace which disappoints me a little but perhaps it would get too hot for a fire anyway.

There are two large glass doors that lead out to a back patio and I can see Peeta sitting there, watching the waves rolling in. We've arrived about an hour after lunchtime and the sun is bright in the sky. I find myself looking forward to evening and seeing the setting sun. It really is a pity that all of this is wasted on a couple who are only pretending at being newlyweds. If I ever did marry for love I wouldn't mind spending a month, or a year, in a house like this.

I press a button on the left door and it slides to the side, allowing me to step outside. My nose fills with the scent of sun-warm wood, sand and a faint smell of salt water. The sun seems brighter here than back home in Twelve and reflects off the sand same as it does with snow. I have to shade my eyes with my hand as I walk up to Peeta and take a seat next to him. There's a two foot gap between the patio and the sand so my feet dangle in the air. A few feet to Peeta's right is a set of steps that leads down to the beach below. Strangely enough the first thought that pops into my head is that I must remember to wear shoes when walking out here on the patio or else I'll probably get splinters.

"Hey," I say to Peeta, taking my hand down but squinting in the bright daylight.

"Hey," he replies.

"Liking it so far?"

"See those seagulls over there?" He points to a flock of birds circling about a hundred yards from where we're sitting. "I'm fairly sure one of them is actually a drone with a camera. It's got a mechanical way of moving and it's a lot more steady than the rest of them."

"You're either very paranoid or they're really putting effort into this," I say. "Probably the latter."

"I used to always wonder how they could film every single moment during the Games, until we were in the arena ourselves. I still haven't figured it all out but…" He looks at me. "Do you think our honeymoon is going to be broadcast? Or is it just Snow wanting to keep an eye on us?"

"Maybe that depends on our performance."

"Let's hope they're not broadcasting  _live_."

We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves come rolling in. It's remarkably peaceful and even though I know there are cameras tracking us when we're outdoors it still feels private compared to the huge circus in the Capitol.

Eventually Peeta rises, wobbling for a second before he finds his balance on his fake leg, and walks back inside the house. I follow him and we walk into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. Now we're alone for real.

"Did you notice all the large windows in this house?" asks Peeta.

"Hard not to," I reply dryly.

"How much do you want to bet that when they agreed not to put cameras indoors they instead chose this house so they could have the cameras outside but still capturing everything we do?" He snorts and shakes his head in frustration. "This room is our only sanctuary. Well, the bathroom also counts but… Whenever we're not in here we're going to have to be pretending." He sounds so irritated at first that when his look softens and his shoulders relax it takes me by surprise. "Do you want to try and make the best of it?"

"How do you mean?"

"No reason we can't try and have a good time while we're here. For instance, how good a cook are you?"

"Not very good," I say, frowning at the question. "You ought to know. You've tasted my food."

"I had no complaints in the arena," he smiles.

"You were as good as dead."

"Then how about we try to cook stuff together? That might be fun. I saw they have some board games out in the sitting room; that might be fun too."

"I could teach you to swim," I say spontaneously. He looks skeptical but the idea appeals to me. "We could spend our days out there in the water. It might actually be fun."

"Have you seen the waves?" he questions. "I'm not going anywhere near anything like that. Didn't someone at the dinner here during the Victory Tour talk about how people get caught in the undercurrent and dragged out to sea?"

"Not if you stay close to shore," I argue, though I'm not exactly sure.

"Still, seems safer not to."

"Coward," I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Anyway… Are we agreed? That instead of playing an exhausted charade all the time we give actual fun a try?"

"Just having a good time together isn't going to be enough," I point out. He walks over to the bed and sits down and I move a bit closer. "We should talk about the sex thing."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Peeta you know as well as I do that it's not going to work like that. You were there during dinner last night. You even cracked a joke about us having a dozen kids. Might as well just… accept it."

"There's got to be some way around it," argues Peeta, running a hand through his hair. "I can figure it out. I just need time."

"We may not have time." I walk up to him and stop just about a foot from the bed. "You know as well as I do that marriage won't be enough. Not in the long run. If we don't have babies people will start to wonder why."

"Do you  _want_  to have kids?" he questions, looking surprised.

"Not even a little bit. But I'm also not ready to face the consequences of not doing what is asked of us."

"Katniss…" He moves off the bed and stands right next to me, looking me deep in the eyes. "You know me. You know I can't do something like that."

"You know Snow," I reply, a slight tremble in my voice. "He won't let us get away with not having kids."

"Then I'll take full responsibility for not getting you pregnant. He can have me killed if that's what suits him. I'd prefer that to the alternative."

He walks away from me, out from the room, leaving me standing there with my mouth gaping, absolutely horrified. I knew Peeta was determined not to go through with what he perceives to be rape of me but I had no idea he would take it that far. I feel my heart pounding with fear at the thought of Snow killing him. I can't explain it to myself but I strongly feel I would rather risk sending a child into the arena than giving Peeta's life to prevent that from happening. I run to the door and call out to him just as he's about to go back outside.

"What was it all for, then?" I ask. He stops and looks at me, confused at the question. "If you're willing to die rather than to have children with me then what was the point of marrying me in the first place? Why not refuse that too and take Snow's wrath now?"

"The marriage was to buy peace, wasn't it? To save our families? I'm willing to hold out hope that by the time people will start to think it's strange that we're not expecting a baby yet they will have lost interest in us. Barring that I'm willing to take my chances that we might figure something out that can keep us from having to have children in the first place."

His hand reaches for the button that opens the door.

"You know you can't go outside," I say. "Not without me. It will look strange if you go out alone just an hour or so after we've arrived."

"I'll bring you back some seashells or something. Something…  _romantic_ …"

He leaves and I sigh heavily, walking back inside the bedroom and throwing myself down on the large bed. I will not sacrifice Peeta to avoid having children. I just don't have a clue how to make him see things my way. If nothing else we need to have sex, at least once, because the doctors in the Capitol can check to see if you've lost your virginity. I heard Effie discuss it with Portia once, recalling an incident where a female tribute had accused her fellow tribute of raping her but an examination had proven she was a virgin. The story sickened me and the thought of such an examination scares me but not as much as the thought of what they might do to us, to Peeta, if we fail to fall in line.

 

 

 

He returns to the house after an hour and a half. By then I've left the bedroom and I'm busy searching through the kitchen to find what food they have stocked for us. To my surprise most of the cabinets are empty and the ones that aren't have things like sugar lumps and crackers. Nothing you can cook actual dinner from.

When Peeta walks into the kitchen I'm about to tell him what I've discovered but he holds out his fist to me and I look at it with confusion. He gives me a tired smile, opens his hand and I find a collection of seashells there.

"They were surprisingly hard to find," he tells me.

"Is that why you were gone an hour and a half?" I ask, hearing how much I sound like a nagging wife.

He doesn't answer. He takes my hand and gives me the seashells, then places a kiss on my jawline. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands while I stare at the shells, wondering what I'm supposed to do with them. This is considered a romantic gift? What is the purpose of the shells, exactly?

"What have you been up to?" asks Peeta.

"I've discovered that we don't have any food."

He turns the faucet off and reaches for a towel.

"What?"

"See for yourself. The cabinets are as good as empty. Nothing useful in any of them."

With a frown on his face he begins to search through the cabinets. He only opens two before deciding I must be right and he closes them with a groan.

"Great. What is this supposed to mean?"

"Do we have any fishing gear?"

"I don't even know what fishing gear looks like."

I can't make sense of this. They can't have  _forgotten_  to provide food for us. There must be something else going on here but I can't figure out what. I get a weird sense that we're back in the cave in the arena and that we have to perform to earn food. I look at Peeta and wonder what it might take. If I walk up to him and kiss him, pressing my lips to his for ten seconds or more, will that earn us dinner?

A knock on the door startles us both.

"Are we expecting… company?" asks Peeta.

"I sure hope not."

"Should I get it?"

Without waiting for an answer he walks to the front door and opens it. The next thing I know a whole crew of people walk inside, carrying tablecloths and silverware and numerous plates of what I sincerely hope is food, each one covered by a kind of silver dome that I suppose is meant to keep the food warm. None of them speak and they leave again after a few minutes, once they have arranged the table for us. Peeta and I stand on opposite ends of the room, watching with amazement and confusion as the scene unfolds. Once they're gone we look at each other and then hurry to sit down at the table.

"Is this what it's going to be like every night?" he wonders, lifting the dome off a plate at random. I feel my mouth watering when I see thick slices of meatloaf swimming in gravy. "There goes the idea of cooking together, then."

"On the other hand," I say, lifting another dome to find two small bowls of an orange colored soup, "this is bound to be ten times more delicious than anything we could concoct in this kitchen."

We lift off each of the domes and survey the meal prepared for us. There's soup, salad, meatloaf, potatoes, breadsticks that seem to fascinate Peeta a great deal, steaming hot vegetables and some form of yellow pudding.

"No fish," I remark. "And this is the fishing district."

Peeta furrows his brow as if trying to remember something.

"Remember what Effie said before the wedding… That night when we had those large fish that still had their eyes and teeth and basically everything?"

"I wasn't listening. There was fish to be had."

"No, she said something about a friend of hers who hated being pregnant because she couldn't eat fish. Something about mercury levels?"

"Mercury levels?" I echo. "Peeta if they're going to plan every single meal based on the assumption that I'm  _in the family way_  I'm going to lose my mind."

"Let's just eat," suggests Peeta. "There may not be fish but the stuff we've got looks delicious. Do you think it's lobster soup?"

Peeta developed a definite fondness for anything lobster during the Victory Tour. I lean over the bowls and sniff, shaking my head at him.

"Carrot."

 "Right," he says. "Think lobster is bad for a fetus, too?"

 

 

 

 

The following two weeks turn out better than I had expected. The weather is good for the most part and we spend at least a few hours outside each day, with the exception of one day when the rain pours down. Peeta uses wet and moist sand to form shapes and figures, almost like small statues. On one occasion I actually do get him out into the waves. The hot sun and the setting means we're wearing little clothing and to my surprise it feels natural touching his sun-warm skin. My hands often find his broad chest and his often land around my waist. We kiss, we hug, we hold hands. It's always part of a performance and sometimes at night we lie awake and discuss what things we are going to do the following day.

One afternoon we lie down in the sand, a feet or two away from where the water is coming in because that is the only place where the sand isn't burning hot. We lie close together, hands intertwined, and I've begun to doze off when the tide begins to come in and a wave suddenly splashes over us. With a yelp I fly to my feet and back away, causing Peeta to laugh at my reaction. It's in moments like that, when we are spontaneous and honestly enjoying each other's company, that I feel we might actually have a chance at convincing even Snow that something real exists between us.

We spend a few hours every day in the bedroom, reading or napping. We spend time in the sitting room, playing games and cuddling on the couch for the benefit of the cameras that we can assume are filming us from outside. We sit together on the patio and many nights we take a walk together along the shoreline as the sun is setting over the ocean. We walk with our arms around each other's waist or shoulders, or sometimes holding hands. Sometimes I lean my cheek against Peeta's shoulder, which is really uncomfortable when he's walking but I assume it looks affectionate and romantic. We sit on the sand together once it's gotten dark, whispering together.

The whole two weeks I'm bored nearly to the point of tears and at the same time I'm careful to uphold the charade. It's exhausting and I can tell so clearly that all the feigned affection from me takes a huge toll on Peeta. He never complains but sometimes when I'm kissing him or caressing his cheek or smiling lovingly at him I can see in his eyes a glimmer of what I think is hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, it's not an act on my part. Then always follows another look when he seems to remind himself that it never will be more than an act and that look is difficult for me. There are times when I think I can feel something a lot more real for him, moments when a look from him or a touch from him invokes a warmth and pleasurable sensation deep inside of me, but those moments are rare. I don't think genuine emotion can stand a chance at surfacing when we're constantly feeling like two actors in a play.

When we finally receive word that we are to pack our bags and get ready for two weeks in District 7 it feels like a relief. We're halfway there. In another two weeks we will get to go home and we can live life for real.


	5. Chapter 5

The mentors are put on board the train before the tributes and Emalda always gets a moment with them before we are allowed to see them. The idea is that the escort should have the opportunity to explain some basic details to the tributes, and preferably make them feel a bit more at ease. Effie at least tried to do the latter. Emalda never even bothers.

The moment Peeta, Haymitch and I are allowed into the cart where Tommy and Sally are sitting Tommy flies to his feet.

"Uncle Peeta!" he exclaims. "Aunt Katniss."

He runs straight to Peeta's arms and Peeta holds him close for a long moment. I can see Tommy fighting not to break down and cry. Peeta looks composed but I can tell he's more rattled than he wants our nephew to know. There's a part of me that cannot bear to fault Tommy for running to his uncle's embrace while another part of me knows he needs to be tougher than this and never show this kind of weakness, even in front of his fellow district tribute. I can't even imagine how difficult it will be to separate my feelings for him as an aunt from my role as mentor. Caring about your tributes is not necessarily an advantage, as far too many victors have found out when their offspring have entered the arena.

"Help me," says Tommy in a low, slightly desperate voice when he pulls back from Peeta and turns to me.

I pull him into my arms and place a hand on the back of his neck, feeling his curly hair graze my fingers.

"You can do this," I whisper in his ear. "We have faith in you."

Reluctantly I pull back from the embrace, resisting the temptation to gently rub his cheek with my thumb the way I used to do when he was little and scraped his knees. Haymitch nods at Tommy, then walks over to the bar. Tommy looks unsure for a moment and then slowly begins to walk back to the armchair he was sitting in before. Sally is still in her chair, her feet pulled up and her arms wrapped around her knees. She's looking out the window with a face that's trying to be stoic. I all but ignore her as I take a seat opposite the two of them, Peeta sitting down to my right. If Sally doesn't want to talk to us right now I'm not going to force it. I've mentored enough frightened children to know that some don't want to open up right away. Some never do.

"So what happens now?" asks Tommy in a defeated tone.

"In two days we reach the Capitol," answers Peeta. "Once we arrive you'll be prepped for the Tributes' Parade. After that follows four days of intense training, your interviews and then…"

"And then the arena," finishes Haymitch.

Tommy looks down on his hands, his fingers nervously fiddling with a loose thread on the armrest. I haven't got the first idea what to say so I keep quiet. I should know what to say since I've been a tribute myself and I've mentored for over a decade and a half but this never gets any easier and this year is harder than ever before. Peeta, normally so good with words, sits quiet also. Haymitch downs his drink, sets the tumbler down on the counter top with a bang and then leaves. Tommy looks up as he exits.

"Do we have to stay in here?" he asks.

"No," answers Peeta. "You can go to your own compartment. Emalda will summon you when it's time for dinner."

Tommy nods and rises from his seat, giving us a quick glance. Peeta and I get up and follow him. We walk down a long corridor towards the compartment reserved for the male tribute. It's not the same one Peeta once had; this train is only six years old. When the door to Tommy's compartment closes behind us he walks straight into my arms and I let him cry against my neck. Peeta stands silently beside us, rubbing Tommy's back gently. There really is nothing to say.

 

 

We stay with Tommy until Emalda summons us for dinner. We take ten minutes to go back to our own compartments and change into something other than we wore during the Reaping. When we are alone Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind and buries his face at the nape of my neck.

"If he dies…"

"He's not dead yet," I say sharply.

"I know, but if he dies…"

"We can't think like that." I turn around in his embrace, wrapping my arms around him, and we hold each other close for a long moment. "All we can do is to do our jobs as mentors and do it better than we ever have before. That, and trust that Tommy can pull this off. He is a Mellark, after all."

"Yeah but I won thanks to you," retorts Peeta. "On my own I would have died before the final eight."

"You don't know that."

"Everybody knows that. Including Tommy."

He pulls back, kisses my brow and walks over to the closet to get changed. I hurriedly remove my own clothes, letting them lie on the floor for a servant to pick up later, and change into something less gaudy and more comfortable. Hand in hand we then leave our compartment.

When we walk inside the dining cart Haymitch is slouched in his chair, twirling expensive liquor in a crystal tumbler, ignoring the food set out in front of him. Emalda is eating as if she's at a fine restaurant, paying no heed to the children at the table. I watch her pick up the expensive linen napkin and dab her mouth. Her bright yellow lipstick leaves no mark on the white fabric.

Sally pays no attention to us either, eating her dinner in silence. Tommy looks up when we walk in and I almost have to look away. I wish I didn't have to see the sadness and fear in his eyes and even more than that I wish I didn't have to see that look that means he places his hope in Peeta and me. We know we can't guarantee him a victory and I can't bear to be held responsible if he dies.

We sit down to eat and Peeta attempts some small talk. After less than a minute he's interrupted by Tommy who nods at Emalda.

"Why is she here?"

"Your escort?" I ask, confused at the question.

"Why is she here?" repeats Tommy, spearing a tomato with his fork. "She drew our names from the reaping balls, condemned us to death and got us on board the train. What further purpose does she serve?"

"I am your escort," says Emalda, deeply offended at the insinuation that she doesn't have a purpose anymore. I roll my eyes since I thought she hated her role in the Games. "I will be making sure you arrive on time for all your activities. I will prepare you for your interviews. I will-"

"Yes but right now, what is your purpose?" questions Tommy. "Aren't you supposed to help us somehow?"

"Tommy…" says Peeta. "Look, the first evening is always the worst. It's just as well you take it easy tonight and we don't get into any specifics and that she doesn't begin to prepare you just yet. Chances are you won't remember much of what we tell you today anyway."

"But it's not fair!" exclaims Tommy. "She doomed us today and she gets to sit there and enjoy her food and not even acknowledge us."

"It's not that easy, Tommy," I say.

"I'm scared, Aunt Niss!" says Tommy, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm frightened out of my mind and that statue over there just… just sits there and eats her dinner and could care less."

"Shut up!" yells Sally, slamming her hand down on the table which makes Emalda jump two feet in the air. It's the first time she's spoken since we boarded the train and it takes us all by surprise. "Just shut up, okay? You don't get to cry! You don't get to be scared! You don't get to say anything is unfair!"

"Calm yourself," says Haymitch. His tone is placid but there's definitely a warning undertone.

"You at least have a chance!" cries Sally, flying to her feet, her eyes locked on Tommy. "All of my chances died when they drew your name and you know it. Stop acting like you're the unfortunate one. District Twelve's three mentors are your aunt and uncle and a useless drunk!"

"That's enough," says Haymitch, sharply now.

"They're not going to help me live," continues Sally, gesturing to Peeta and me. "All I have to hope for is that the drunkard takes pity on me but I doubt he would put in any effort either. They're all probably thick as thieves anyway and he will choose you too. I'm going into the arena same as you and I don't even have someone on my side who wants me to live. I'm going to be sacrificed! Because of you." She's screaming by now, tears falling down her face. "You remember that the next time you feel sorry for yourself."

Peeta, Emalda and I all look down at our plates as she storms out of the room but Tommy leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly seeming determined. While us mentors and the escort all seem to feel varying degrees of shame, knowing that she had a point, Tommy doesn't appear to be moved in the slightest.

"To hell with her," he says.

"Tommy," says Peeta in a mildly chastising tone.

"To hell with her. She doesn't get to make me feel guilty. If it were her aunt and uncle mentoring she'd take full advantage of it." He grabs his knife and fork and starts to eat again. "I am not going to apologize to her just because my aunt and uncle are our mentors. Aunt Katniss, would you pass me the salt?"

"This is going to be an interesting year," mutters Haymitch under his breath.

"That's one way of putting it," mutters Peeta in response. He picks up his fork and half-heartedly begins to pick at his casserole.

I stare at my own food, for once not feeling hungry. Someone ordered chicken, rice and a thick, creamy sauce for me but none of it looks appealing. The only one who seems to have an appetite right now is Tommy but I have to wonder how much of his behavior right now is attempted bravado.

I've come to understand over the years that Peeta and I were unusual even when we first arrived in the Capitol. Despite my lack of trust in him, the tension that occasionally filled the room and the few arguments we had we still got along fairly well. Maybe it was because we already knew each other from school, or maybe because he had a crush on me and I hadn't been entirely indifferent to him either. Whatever it was, it was different that year from what the norm is between two tributes from the same district. For the most part we got along and there were even some almost nice moments around the dinner table. Most years the tributes barely speak to one another and the tension is palpable when they're in the same room together. There tends to be arguing, hostility and a palpable sense that they are competitors, enemies. Sometimes the tributes do get along. Usually if one is seventeen or eighteen and the other twelve or thirteen. The older tends to be protective of the younger. I chalk it up to both of them knowing that the younger doesn't stand a chance. There was also one memorable pair, the tributes for the 77th Games. Effie caught them having sex which caused a huge turmoil that Haymitch enjoyed immensely and almost sent Effie to a "recuperation facility" – the reclusive luxury hotels where Capitol citizens go when they feel the need to calm their nerves. The tributes in question thought they could repeat Peeta's and my success by being the new star-crossed lovers, failing to understand that such a thing only works once and that Peeta and I never took the gambit as far as the bedroom. In the end, neither of those tributes made it past the first four days.

This year there will be no such incidents. Sally and Tommy aren't likely to spare three words to one another based on the experience so far. I can't say that I blame them. I tried my best to not form any form of bond with Peeta during our training and even though I failed I still secretly encourage my own tributes to have that mindset. Peeta's and my double-victory is a one in a million win and will never be repeated. Forming an alliance with your fellow tribute can help you during the first part of the Games but it's going to end up hurting you when you have to turn on one another. That's just the way it is. Tommy and Sally are better off not caring about each other during training.

Emalda finishes her dinner and quietly leaves the room. No doubt to go cry her eyes out at being labelled pointless. Once she is gone and it's just the four of us left Haymitch studies Tommy intently, still swirling the liquor around in its tumbler.

"I've known you since you were a kid, boy," he says. "Well, known might be a strong word. But you get what I mean."

Peeta rolls his eyes. Haymitch has been around our nieces and nephews but he hasn't spent enough time with them to form any real relationship with any of them. To him they've just been annoying rugrats that have taken up too much space and been too loud sometimes when he's come over to our house in search of food, drink or companionship.

"Did you even know which one of us was Tommy before today?" replies Tommy with newfound cheekiness.

"Who cares?" asks Haymitch with a shrug. He sets the tumbler down and leans forward, taking a bite from his food. "It will be interesting to see if you have any of your uncle's guile. If you do, you might just stand a chance. Word of advice, though. Try not to piss too many people off. I told your sullen aunt eighteen years ago and I'm telling you now – the way to win sponsors is to make people like you."

"I can do that," says Tommy but he sounds hesitant.

"Oh I'm sure you can," says Haymitch, shoveling a forkful of risotto in his mouth. "If you have any of that Mellark charm in you. If not then we need to put a lot of work into your personality."

Tommy's façade visibly falls. He sets his cutlery down and stares at his plate for a second, clearly distraught. He's always been a kind person, not quite on the same level as Peeta but nice enough that his comments about Sally moments ago really surprised me. Haymitch calling him out on that behavior seems to have really gotten to him. I want to walk over to him and hold him, to comfort him. He's had such a monumental shock today and he knows he might be dead soon; being told he's an unappealing person by one of his mentors is not something he needs right now. But Peeta's hand on my thigh steadies me and makes me stay in my seat. It's time for Tommy to come out of his shock and Peeta and I can't baby him the entire upcoming week.

"I'm done with dinner," announces Tommy. He gets up and leaves, half his plate still untouched.

"He doesn't take after either one of you in that regard" comments Haymitch, nodding at the plate. "The pair of you ate like horses no matter what state you were in." He leans back and wipes his face with his napkin. "This year will definitely be interesting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was another short chapter - sorry. They'll get longer, I promise =)


	6. Chapter 6

The second leg of the honeymoon takes place in a much more secluded setting. A small cottage in a peaceful glade in District 7. Or at least that what it will look like on camera. If you walk for more than two minutes through the woods in either direction you'll end up in a populated area or large areas where they are felling trees for the lumber industry. For the duration of our stay here all felling has been moved to a different section of the district. The sounds of axes and falling trees are not deemed suitable for a romantic honeymoon by Capitol standards.

The cottage itself is small and admittedly cozy. On the outside it appears to be made from tree logs but that is merely an illusion to make it look rustic. It's actually made from brick, which you notice once you step inside because they didn't bother to cover up the brick walls with wallpaper. It has four rooms – kitchen, bedroom, sitting room and a small dining room. It's less than half the size of the beach house and much less luminous but I still like it. I especially like the fireplace and the bearskin rug, though as Peeta points out, it's not likely to get all that cold in late March.

It will be a lot easier staying indoors here. The windows are much smaller and we can cover them with curtains to keep the cameras out. It makes the house dark but it allows us to relax. When Peeta moves to close the curtains he gives a wink to whatever camera is filming us outside, selling the idea that we're closing them so we can spend our time trying to make that baby everyone is clamoring for. Once the curtains are all closed he flops down on the couch and looks bored.

While he stretches out on the couch I walk inside the kitchen to check if we can actually cook something for ourselves this time around. It only takes a look at the room to determine that this won't be the case. They haven't even bothered to include a stove. Unless they mean for us to cook over the fireplace, which I don't see that much of a problem with to be honest, they will supply food for us. Probably food that has been meticulously prepared to be as nutritious and healthy as can be for the non-existing fetus.

"Look at these woods, Peeta," I sigh as I walk back out to him. "If we weren't surrounded by civilization I could go hunting."

"No you couldn't" he says flatly. "They would never provide you with a bow. They mean for you to stay here, in bed, like a good little wife. Not go gallivanting in the woods by your lonesome."

"How do people  _stomach_  this?" I ask, sitting down on the bearskin rug. "I get the idea of going away for a few days when you've just married but a full  _month_? Meant to be spent mostly in  _bed_?"

He laughs shortly, with little happiness, shifting his right leg to cross it over his prosthetic left.

"Newlyweds tend to be insatiable," he says, and I find myself wondering how he knows that. "If I was getting married for real I wouldn't mind a month-long getaway where we never had to get out of bed."

"You'd get bored after three days," I snort, trying to ignore the strange sting in my heart when he differentiates this union from a real marriage. Love or no love, I'd rather acknowledge the validity of our marriage than live my whole life in a complete sham.

"I assure you, I wouldn't." Before I can figure out what that really means he gets up from his seat. "This, however, is boring as all hell. This place doesn't even have any games and the only books are on riveting topics such as the history of lumber."

"Guess we're not meant to be playing board games or reading books…"

He sighs heavily and kneels by the fireplace. I watch silently as he lights a fire, unable to shake the thought of a ritual we haven't performed. There was no toasting at the wedding. We mentioned that particular tradition to Effie but she just wrinkled her nose at us. Maybe it's just as well.

 

 

 

The fourteen days in District 7 are close to unbearable. I have never been so bored in all my life. We hardly ever go outside, wanting to avoid the cameras, but there's not much to do indoors if you're not going to work on that honeymoon baby. Peeta reads every one of the books, often nearly drowsing off from lack of interest of their subject matter. The only book he finds interesting is one that deals with the different qualities of bark and leaves, which seems to interest him on a painter's level. He doodles on the margins of the pages, in lack of clean paper to draw on. For my own part I spend most of my time writing letters to Prim, Gale and my mother. They expect us to write to our loved ones and tell them all about what a wonderful time we're having, though one might wonder where we find the time to stop and write all of this if we're so busy having the time of our lives.

My letters are a mixture between truth and fiction. I have no doubt that someone from the government will read them before they reach their destinations. I can only hope that those I write to know me well enough to be able to tell what is reality and what is part of the play of the star-crossed lovers. I write about what the beach house looked like and how cozy the cottage in the woods is. I write about funny things Peeta has said or done, often exaggerating them a bit. To my mother and sister I write about romantic walks along the beach and I let the fact that it's my immediate family I'm addressing be my cover for not saying anything about passionate kisses or bedroom bliss. I try to mention Peeta as little as possible in my letters to Gale, though it's impossible not to talk about your husband when you're selling the story of your wondrous honeymoon.

Writing has never been my strong suit so this takes up most of my time. I spend hours trying to figure out how to phrase things and which words to use to describe this or that. Occasionally I ask Peeta for help and he comes with a suggestion. He never writers to his own family. In the end my letters don't seem to have been written by me at all. I don't recognize myself in the way I describe things and the stories I tell. Maybe that's just as well.

With each passing day I feel more and more distant from Peeta. Being forced together in a small house this way, having nothing to do but supposedly have sex, takes a toll on us. We start getting on each other's nerves and I can almost feel him pulling away from me more and more each day. Every night he sleeps with his back turned to me, like he's trying to create some amount of privacy for himself. It hurts me that he seems to want to be away from me. I miss our friendship.

One night I reach out my hand and almost let it land on his shoulder to try and get him to turn around and look at me. I want to sleep in his arms, want him to chase away the nightmares. On the nights when I do wake up from a nightmare he comforts me but he doesn't hold me close the way I want and need him to do. It's almost impersonal, the way he soothes me, and it makes me feel empty and lonely inside. Instead of resting my hand on his shoulder I let it fall on the pillow beside him, the tips of my fingers just barely grazing his hair.

 

 

 

The honeymoon trip naturally ends with a big party in the Capitol. We are both exhausted and want nothing more than to return home where we can stop pretending every time we set foot outside where someone can see us but nobody ever cares what we actually want. We might as well accept that whenever we leave our home district we're just exhibitions in a large live museum.

So we put our game faces on and do what we do so well by now. Smile to the crowds, cling to one another, act like the happiest couple there ever was. It surprises me that nobody can tell that we're faking because I cannot believe we are being believable in the slightest but people seem to eat it all up. I feel like I have to work harder now to maintain the charade because it feels like Peeta is slipping. Almost like he doesn't care as much anymore what happens if the lie is discovered.

The easiest part of the evening is when we're slow dancing together. When my cheek rests against Peeta's and we don't have to look each other in the eye it's somehow easier to maintain the lie. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his shoulder, grieving the loss of the days when his embrace meant stability and comfort and security. His body is still warm against mine, his arms welcoming, but I know it's not the same anymore. Snow has managed to take away what good we had between us.

By the end of the evening everybody toasts to our good fortune and, of course, to the gross of children we'll be having. It seems like people want little more from me from now on than to have a baby once a year. I can't wait until Peeta and I have become old news and they have moved on to the next new fad. Maybe then people won't care about the star-crossed lovers anymore and we can find some real normalcy.

I clink my champagne flute to Peeta's and, in a rehearsed move, we drink from each other's flute. Both flutes are actually filled with non-alcoholic cider but nobody knows that. The small trick seems to make the guests wild with enthusiasm and when we top it off with a kiss the crowd is practically ecstatic. Peeta sets his flute down on a nearby table, wraps his arm around my waist, pulls me close and smiles at the people around us.

"My wife and I would like to thank you all for this honor," he says. "It's been a lovely evening but I think we shall retire now. We have an early train to catch tomorrow."

People nod and wink all around us, clearly not buying the early train excuse. I don't care. Let them think we're heading to our room to have wild sex all night long. If they knew that we don't even sleep in each other's arms anymore they probably wouldn't believe it anyway.

We retire from the party and head to the hotel room that awaits us. The moment the door closes behind us Peeta lets out a groan and leans back against the thick mahogany that keeps the world out… or keeps us locked in, if you choose to look at it that way.

"I never thought I'd say this," he says. "But I actually look forward to the Hunger Games. How pathetic, not to mention selfish, is that?"

I nod, understanding perfectly. When the Quell begins, two months from now, all focus will shift from us to the new tributes. This time around the change in rules for the Quell is that the pool of possible tributes has changed. To remind us that both young and old participated in the rebellion – and were defeated – the pool this year consists only of those aged eleven and nineteen. The horror of Reaping coming a year early for some families and the feeling of safety at having turned nineteen being taken away from others. It's cruel beyond words. No eleven year-old stands a chance at winning. The youngest ever winner was Finnick Odair at age fourteen. And the nineteen year-olds, they should be immune now. That is the deal. Once you've survived the Reaping when you're eighteen you've done your part and you get to keep your life. Peeta's brother Ryean is among those who should have been safe this year but instead has to endure another reaping, this time with a considerably smaller pool of contenders.

In the Capitol, of course, the rule-change is heavily criticized for another reason. They call it unfair that the children between ages twelve and eighteen get a freebee year and that the eighteen year-olds especially get off too easy. Neither Peeta nor I can play along when they talk about how those children get an unfair immunity this year, as if they don't deserve to feel safe yet. Whenever somebody brings it up to us we just glare at them and that tends to make them drop the subject.

I haven't given much thought to the Quell in the past seven weeks. When the announcement was held and criticism started coming in they pushed forward our wedding plans so to distract the grumpy, spoiled Capitol people and Peeta and I were wed three weeks after the announcement. My mind has been busy with so many other things that I've allowed myself to forget that in a few months' time I'm going to be a mentor. Possibly to an eleven year-old. Possibly to  _two_  eleven year-olds. Each person of eligible age gets one slip in the reaping ball so the youngest don't have the same minor advantage of fewer slips that the twelve year-olds normally do. There's also a part of me that wonders if Peeta's brother will be safe on account of the high improbability of two boys from the same family being reaped consecutive years, or if Snow and his goons will be unable to resist the drama and make sure that Ryean's name is on the slip of paper Effie draws.

I look at Peeta and want so badly to walk into his arms and let him hold me and chase away my fears and horrors. By the looks of it he's not going to allow me that. He looks tired and moody and not much like the kind, gentle boy I've come to know before the wedding. I don't understand his change in behavior lately. During the Victory Tour we were getting along and afterward a real friendship began to form between us but it feels like that has been nullified by the marriage.

"One more performance tomorrow…" he says, loosening the tie around his neck before letting his jacket fall off his shoulders. "Then most likely another one when we reach Twelve and come home to our house together." He walks over to the bed and takes a seat, leaning forward to undo the laces on his shoes. "Effie gave me a list of Capitol wedding traditions a few days before the wedding and not so subtly hinted that I should try and spontaneously incorporate as many of them as possible."

"She gave me one, too," I say. We've only done two or three things from the list of about a dozen items, ignoring countless trite traditions related to the wedding day itself, but there's one tradition we haven't gotten to yet. "You're thinking about the bride being carried over the threshold to the new house?"

"Yeah." He finishes untying his shoelaces and kicks off his right shoe. He glances up at me. "You know where that tradition originates?"

"No."

He laughs joylessly.

"It symbolizes the groom carrying the bride to bed so that she can't escape the wedding night."

I don't know if I'm more embarrassed by the meaning or horrified by the implication. Either way my cheeks turn red and I look away.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He kicks the shoe off his prosthetic foot. "Needless to say I'm going to ignore that tradition as well. It's sick."

"I thought they just carried her over the threshold," I say, trying to wrap my mind around it. "Not all the way to the bedroom."

"Maybe they used to carry her all the way there," shrugs Peeta.

I walk over and sit down next to him, baffled over all these strange wedding customs. In Twelve all you do is sign some documents, go to your assigned house, toast some bread and have people sing the wedding song for you. Why the need for so many elaborate, stilted traditions in the Capitol? They have traditions regarding who dances with what person in which order, what type of food is served as an entrée, specific points during the reception where the newlyweds are expected to kiss. It's all so needlessly complicated.

I share a look with Peeta. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I burst out laughing.

"What?" he asks. "What's funny?"

"What  _isn't_  funny?" I answer. "This is so absurd! All of it! Effie almost fainted from dishonor because we didn't kiss after every one of those forty-five-or-so speeches given in our honor. A choir of chubby children sang a stilted love song while we were putting rings on each-other's fingers. They gave me this elaborate bouquet of flowers and then expected me to just throw it into the crowds after a few hours. Whatever happened to just declaring that you want to spend your life together, signing some legal papers, having a toasting and letting that be it? Why the need for all this… circus drama?"

He laughs a little too and shakes his head.

"At least it reminds us that it's all just a show."

That stops my laughter and I feel very depressed all of a sudden. I reach out my hand and place it on top of his, and he doesn't pull his hand away. I can feel the cool metal of his new wedding band against my fingers.

"We were friends before they rushed us off to the Capitol and the world's fastest organized big shindig of a wedding," I say. "What happened, Peeta?"

"We're still friends."

"Are we?"

He looks down at the shoes he kicked aside a few minutes ago. His shoulders slouch a bit and I feel an urge to wrap my arm over them. I just don't know if it's okay for me to touch him anymore.

"It will be better when we get back home," he says after a moment of silence. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk."

"You're not being a jerk."

"It's just… I'm already sick of pretending. And this is going to go on for the rest of our lives."

"Not  _all_  of our lives," I argue. "Not when we're home in Twelve. We can be ourselves when we're home."

"Ourselves… Meaning two people in a loveless marriage." He looks up at me. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. I know you suggested this to save us both and those we care about. It was a good suggestion. I just wish… You know…"

"Yeah."

"You're right, though. I haven't been a good friend lately." He smiles faintly at me. "Give me a second chance?"

I return the smile.

"Sure thing."

 

 

 

 

We're not taken back to Twelve by train the next morning, as we expected. Instead they take us there by hovercraft, though we land outside of the district where a train is waiting to take us the final ten or so miles. I'm not sure what the purpose of all this is but I can't bother questioning it.

Once we arrive are large crowd is cheering for us, much the same as when we returned from the Games. A large feast – by Twelve standards – was held in connotation to our wedding so perhaps that is why everyone is so excited. We wave at the crowds, we kiss, we play the happy newlyweds. I look for Gale in the crowd but I can't find him anywhere, which doesn't surprise me. My mother and sister and Peeta's parents and brothers all greet us and give us more or less stilted hugs in front of the cameras. Mr. Mellark shakes my hand and welcomes me to the family and my mother lies and tells Peeta she's always wanted a son. They were instructed to deliver these lines at the reception dinner but for various reasons the people arranging the event couldn't fit it into the schedule. Peeta and I smile and pretend like we're genuinely touched. It's a little bit easier to pretend now that we know that we're almost home, almost free.

When we arrive inside our new home, or actually Peeta's victor house, Haymitch awaits us with a new surprise. I can tell by the way he's acting that he's putting on a performance as well which makes me unsettled.

"There you are, finally!" he announces, pulling us both into a giant bear hug that is so unlike Haymitch it almost makes me break character. "Are you excited for the final step in becoming husband and wife?"

An ice-cold chill runs through me. Do they know we haven't consummated the marriage yet? Are we expected to do so right here, right now? With onlookers and a camera? Onlookers that include our families. Or will they all be standing outside our bedroom door, listening in? All blood must have left my face because I can see the camera crew angling their cameras at Haymitch and Peeta alone.

"Yeah," says Peeta, looking stunned as well but better than I am at continuing the performance. "Of course we are."

"Great," says Haymitch and gives Peeta a hearty slap between the shoulder blades. "Let's get to it, then."

He leads the way into the sitting room and gestures for us to sit down by the fireplace. Suddenly I feel more relaxed. I sink down on my knees, trying to ignore the large crowd gathered in our house. They want us to have a toasting. It's almost touching that they would think to include an obscure District 12 tradition and I have to think it's Effie's doing. The large crowd, the cameras and the fact that it's broad daylight takes a lot away from what I've always imagined to be a quiet, intimate ritual taking place at a time of day when the fire actually lights up the room. All the same, perhaps it's just as well that it feels staged and fabricated.

We need no instructions as to what to do. While the crowd falls silent Peeta and I start a fire together. To my relief we work as a perfect team, making us appear fully synchronized with one another. Someone hands us a loaf of bread and together we toast it in the fire and then spread some butter and jam on it before feeding it to one another. We end with a soft kiss that elicits an "aww" from the crowd watching us. When we break apart Peeta is smiling widely at me but it doesn't reach his eyes. The crowd applauds and I turn my face away, letting my burning red cheeks seem like bashful blushing and not the awkward embarrassment I'm feeling.

Afterward people begin to clear out, most of them coming with remarks on how we need our privacy and how everyone knows that newlyweds have a lot to do. I'm so tired of all of that, I could scream. The very second they are all outside Peeta closes the door and locks it shut, causing a fit of laughter from those outside who overhear him locking up.

"It's over," exhales Peeta. "We did it. We made it." He gives me a look. "They even gave us a toasting. You okay with that?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "We're married either way, right? Might as well make it feel as real as possible."

"Right." He walks to the kitchen and I follow, not sure what else to do. "You probably want to go out hunting, right?" he says. "I hope you don't mind postponing it a day. I think that today we ought to stay inside and make it seem like we're insatiable newlyweds. There's a lot to do here today anyway. Your sister told me they brought some boxes over for you."

"Oh," I say. "Right."

I had momentarily forgotten that I have personal belongings that would be transferred to this house. While we were on our honeymoon we didn't pack a single thing by ourselves. Everything they wanted us to wear or use had already been packed for us. I'm not used to having a lot of personal belongings and I haven't given any thought to how they would have to move to Peeta's house along with me.

"I think the boxes are upstairs," says Peeta, running a hand through his blonde curls absentmindedly.

"Maybe you should, uh… Maybe you should show me the bedroom. So I know where I'll sleep."

He nods and leads the way up the stairs. As I suspected his bedroom is right where mine is, or was, in the other house. He opens the door and I step inside, feeling rather nervous. He's been inside my other bedroom but I've never been inside this room before. Why does it seem more intimate for me to come to his bedroom than the other way around?

I stop at the threshold and look around the room in surprise.

"I hope you don't mind, I…" he begins, "I asked your sister to unpack some of your things and spread them around the place. To make it seem more like home to you."

I never owned a lot of things when I lived in the Seam but since I moved to the Victor's Village there are some things that I consider mine and that I've grown accustomed and a bit attached to. Peeta's house may look like mine as far as layout and basic furnishing goes but each house in the Village has its own color scheme and some personal touches to make each victor feel unique. Peeta's house has lots of yellows while mine had lots of blues. Without asking I know that the bedspread and throw pillows are from my other bedroom. Tuggs, the old worn-out teddybear I had as a child, inherited from my father and about five generations before him, sits against one of the pillows. I haven't given much thought to Tuggs since the age of eleven or so but seeing that teddybear now makes my eyes well up a bit and gives a strange feeling in my heart.

I turn and look at Peeta.

"Thank you."

"Thank Prim. She did the work. I don't know if you noticed but some of your other stuff is in the sitting room and your father's hunting jacket is in the downstairs hall by the door."

I give him a warm embrace and after a moment he returns it.

"Seriously. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. I just want you to feel at home here."

"I think I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That bit about the history behind carrying the bride over the threshold is actually true. Make of that what you will...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

The train begins to pull in to the station and we can hear the excited screams of the people who have come to get a glimpse of the tributes. Tommy stands by the doors, ready to meet those strange individuals who will cheer for him in the parade, cry for him if he dies and perhaps root for the person who kills him. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him and his back straight, ready to smile and wave as soon as people see him as per his uncle's instructions.

Sally stands next to him, angling her body away from him, looking angry. I've told her to try and charm the audiences but she ignores everything I say to her. Fine then, let her be that way. It's her own life on the line and I would be lying if I said I wanted her to survive on the expense of my nephew's life.

Peeta, Haymitch, Emalda and I stand behind the tributes, ready to perform as well. Peeta's hand is in mine and we've dressed in matching outfits. All these years and they still get so excited every time they get those first glimpses of us during the Games. We'll smile, we'll wave, we'll walk behind our tributes and, once they are in the waiting car, share a kiss to please the audience. From the moment the doors open until the moment when the tributes are taken away to the hovercrafts we will be inseparable. The star-crossed lovers of District 12 are still immensely popular and we've learned to milk that for all it's worth to help our tributes in the arena. Nobody from Twelve has won since our Games but I have no doubt it would be even harder to seal another victory for us if we didn't take advantage of the Capitol people's adulation.

"Just a minute or two now…" says Haymitch.

"Remember, smile" says Peeta.

I share a look with him and take a deep breath. The train pulls to a stop. Here we go.

 

 

 

As soon as we reach the training facility we are separated from our tributes. Tommy gives us a long look before he is ushered off to be groomed and plucked and prepped. Many other tributes are around when we part ways and I take it as a positive sign that he settles for just a look and doesn't show weakness in front of them.

Once he is out of sight I turn to Peeta and lean my head against his broad chest. One of his arms wraps around me and I feel his chin resting gently against the top of my head. It's difficult to let Tommy out of our sights and know that the next time we see him he won't really be  _our_  Tommy anymore. He will be a polished and styled version of himself, made ready to be presented to the people who will probably watch him die on television in the near future.

"Tough deal."

I look up when I hear Johanna Mason's voice. The District 7 mentor sounds casual but not sarcastic. I meet her eyes and wonder if she's actually feeling sorry for us or just came over here to rub salt in our wounds. All these years and I still haven't figured her out – not that I've spent much time trying, either.

"Not really as sob-worthy as having your own kid thrown into the arena" continues Johanna. "Guess you guys should feel lucky you're barren, huh? Bet Nephew Mellark's father doesn't feel as happy about it."

She tosses her head in a way that sends her long, dark ponytail flying over her shoulder, winks at us and then she's off. I wrap my arms around Peeta's waist and watch her retreating figure.

"She should shut her mouth" I say. "She's never had a loved one in her life. She's the last person who should comment."

"You know Johanna" says Peeta. "Always hoping to rouse a reaction."

I'm far too familiar with that. It took me years to learn not to bite at every bait she held out for me. It makes me boil inside to think of all the fun she's had at my expense over the years. If she thinks I'm going to waste a single second getting riled up by her this year she's dead wrong.

"Come on" says Peeta. "Let's go eat. If we're lucky we can get a private table and maybe people won't feel the need to come up and talk to us."

I nod and release my arms from him, taking his hand in mine instead. I look around and frown.

"Where's Haymitch?"

"Probably having a double drink in Chaff's memory."

Chaff, Haymitch's best friend among the mentors, died two years ago from pancreatitis, no doubt brought about by his excessive drinking. His death made both Peeta and I worry about Haymitch's drinking habits but whenever we've tried to make him give up the bottle we've hit a brick wall. All we can do is accept that he'll never give up the flask and do our best to take care of him when he's drunk himself sick.

Hand in hand we head for the dining hall where the mentors spend their time before getting changed for the opening ceremonies. It's a large, modern room which was built five years ago, replacing the much nicer, cozier dining hall that had been there for thirty years. The new hall has three long tables where most of the mentors gather but they do have five smaller tables for those who want to sit in smaller groups. Usually that means old friends eager to catch up and the newest members of the victor group. Those tables are popular with all districts save the careers and go fast so we have to be there early if we want to sit by ourselves.

When we arrive in the dining hall two of those tables are available. Peeta selects the smallest one and we sit down and avoid looking at any of the others. About half of the mentors have gathered by now, many of them from the career districts. They are the only ones who never go for the smaller tables. They're rather like a big pack of wolves, gathering together to congratulate themselves on being, in their own minds, the masters of the Games and good-naturedly arguing over whose tribute will be the winner this year. They are loud and uncouth and far too happy to be back here. We always try to sit as far away from them as possible.

Peeta reaches for my hand on the table and I hold it out for him, our fingers intertwining. We try our best to pretend that the others in the room don't exist. Our romance has never been officially claimed as fake among the mentors but many probably suspect it's all for show. Nevertheless, sitting at our own table and looking deep into each other's eyes, holding hands and whispering sweetly to each other is usually enough to keep people from bothering us. I can only hope it works today because neither one of us wants to talk about Tommy right now.

"What do you think they'll serve for lunch this year?" asks Peeta in a low voice. His tone is sugary sweet, as if he's talking about how lovely I look or how wonderful I smell, or something.

"I hope it's not steak served rare" I reply, attempting a similar tone but failing rather miserably. I sigh and look over at the other mentors who are gathering. "Look at them, Peeta. Listen to them. Everything is the same as the year before and the year before that. Like most of them have  _accepted_  it."

"Everything  _is_  the same" replies Peeta. "For them. It's only for us District 12 folks that this year is different."

A round of cheers erupts when Finnick Odair walks through the door with the other five mentors from District 4 in tow. He turned forty a couple of months ago but age hasn't diminished his popularity. If anything he seems even more popular now than before, spending most of his spare time in the Capitol bedding women half his age. I expect him to look our way and give us a grin and a wink but all he does when our eyes meet is nod in recognition. I give Peeta a look.

"What's with him?"

"Finnick's always had a soft spot for the weaklings" mutters Peeta and plays with the fabric of his napkin.

I nod slightly. It's true that Finnick seems to have a thing for those who are most vulnerable. Out of his own fellow mentors from Four the one he stays closest to is crazy Annie Cresta, the woman who lost her mind during her Games when her district partner was beheaded right in front of her. The only reason she won was that she was able to swim the longest after the arena was flooded. She's been a wreck of a woman ever since and it seems to me that she gets worse each year. They bring her to the Capitol every year to showcase her like they do all the rest of us but she's never allowed to be part of the mentoring. Four has enough victors to choose from that they don't need her.

Haymitch walks through the door with one arm thrown around a District 7 mentor's shoulders and a large tumbler in his hand. Already working on getting drunk. I could maim him for not staying sharp and focused. Haymitch always spends the train ride to the Capitol observing the tributes closely without them really realizing it. If he sees potential in one or both of them he will lay off the alcohol as best he can and do as much as he can to help them. If he doesn't feel that either tribute shows promise he detaches himself and leaves them to their own devices. It's his way of coping with having to mentor so many children who are doomed to die. The first years I was highly critical of him but by and by I've begun to see the benefits of his mindset. The tributes you grow emotionally attached to are so much harder to lose in the arena.

He detaches himself from the man from Seven and saunters over to Peeta and me.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"Thirsty?" I reply dryly.

He holds up the tumbler and smiles at the liquid inside.

"I figured I should have a last drink before getting serious, and that it ought to be a big one. To celebrate the occasion."

"Do not use the word  _celebrate_ " says Peeta icily. "Not even as a joke."

"Fair enough." He downs his drink in several large gulps and slams the tumbler down on the table. "Here. Take the tumbler. I assure you, I will try my best not to touch another one until we're back in Twelve."

"Reassuring" mutters Peeta.

"You're going to need your charms now more than ever" says Haymitch, leaning over Peeta. I can smell the alcohol on his breath from across the table. "So don't get so cheeky with me." He looks at me. "Maybe when the luncheon is over and we are to retreat and  _relax_ , you should make sure he has a bit of… fun. He's too tense. He needs to relax."

" _He_  is sitting right here" says Peeta. "Go away Haymitch. Right now you're nothing but an annoyance."

Haymitch gives him a slightly drunk grin before he waltzes off to join some of his friends at one of the longer tables. I see Peeta close his eyes hard and take a deep breath. I can't wait to get him alone, but not for the reason Haymitch suggested. We need some privacy so we can gather our strength and form a strategy.

 

 

The mentors' lunch feels like it goes on forever. By the time we are released and allowed to go up to our living quarters Haymitch has begun to sober up. He tries to make conversation in the elevator but he's met only by silence. When we arrive on our floor Peeta and I head for our bedroom but he calls out to us and orders us to join him in the sitting room. Even though we both just want to go hide from the world in our own room we obediently follow after him. Peeta and I sit down and I put my hand on his knee in a gesture that's comforting to both of us.

"There is an issue we need to address" says Haymitch as he takes his seat next to us on the leather sofa. "The elephant in the room, if you will."

"That my brother's son is going to die in the arena just like every other kid we've mentored?" says Peeta with a tired sigh, leaning back and putting his feet up. He closes his eyes and covers them with his arm.

"That Tommy is not the only District 12 tribute this year."

There's a moment of silence. Peeta lifts the arm from his eyes and looks at Haymitch. I put my feet up on the couch and wrap my arms around my knees, feeling deeply unhappy and uncomfortable. Haymitch is right, of course. We've all more or less forgotten about that moment at the dinner table the first night on the train. All I've been able to think about, all Peeta's been able to think about, is Tommy, and how concerned we are. But there is another tribute under our care.

"Sally Masters" I mumble.

"Sally Masters" nods Haymitch. "Let's not kid ourselves, neither one of us is hoping for her to win this thing. We all want your nephew to be crowned victor of these games. I want to know what you want to do. Do you want to forget about Sally and focus everything on Tommy?"

A palpable silence fills the room. The fact that Peeta isn't immediately saying no to that speaks volumes and I'm not sure what to say either. In the end it's a moral decision. Focusing on two tributes in the arena risks spreading us too thin and it's a secret well-kept to the public yet well known among the mentors that once the Games begin one tribute is often favoured above the other. Opt to save one and you might actually succeed. You can't save them both anyway.

Only this time it's different. Is it right to doom Sally to certain death because of our relationship to Tommy? We wouldn't be making that choice based on an objective look at which one has the best potential to survive. We've never played favourites during training, always doing our best to make sure both tributes are prepared. Once they are in the arena we never abandon either one of them but we do put more effort to help the one that seems to have the best odds of survival. I get that Haymitch is offering us to do it differently this year and make it all about Tommy from the start but is that an option we can live with? On the flip side, can we live with any decision that takes away from his chances of survival?

"We can't just leave Sally to her own wits" I say finally. "She deserves an equal chance."

"I know" says Peeta in a monotonous voice. "I just don't see how it's going to work, practically."

"Then here's what we'll do" says Haymitch, leaning forward over the table. I get the feeling he's spent the train ride to the Capitol forming strategies for a number of different scenarios. "The pair of you focus everything on the boy. I will mentor the girl."

"No" I hear myself saying.

Peeta gives me a look and Haymitch's eyebrows shoot up.

"No?" he echoes.

"No." I get up from where I'm sitting and begin to pace slowly back and forth in the room as I try to make sense of my own jumbles thoughts. "I agree that two of us should mentor Tommy and one of us should mentor Sally but we should think carefully about how we divide ourselves. Peeta do you think you can be in charge of Tommy's training? Can you really handle that? Or is it easier for you to leave it to me and Haymitch and mentor Sally instead? Being too emotionally invested is not always an advantage. We've seen it before, with victors mentoring their own children."

"Except Tommy's not my son" argues Peeta.

"About the closest thing you have, though" Haymitch points out.

"I want to be Tommy's mentor" says Peeta firmly. "I  _need_  to be Tommy's mentor. I can't focus on Sally. How can I mentor her when what I really want is for her to be killed at the cornucopia, quickly and as painlessly as possible?"

Hearing sweet, gentle Peeta spell it out so grimly makes me cringe. I stop and wrap my arms across my chest, biting my lower lip.

"You stay with Tommy, then" nods Haymitch. "What about you, Katniss?"

"I think… I think I should mentor Sally."

"Why?" There's a touch of coldness in Peeta's voice and I can't look at him.

"Because Haymitch is the best mentor out of the three of us." When I turn my head and face my husband he doesn't look angry or upset like I'd expected but rather curious. "I want Tommy to have the best possible conditions going in. I'm good at the combat training and survival training and I can do that for them both. Once they are in the arena and sponsors need to be sweet talked I can't hold a candle to you boys. And let's face it, I don't understand the game half as well as you two do either."

"Yes you do" argues Haymitch softly.

"Traditionally women mentor girl tributes" I continue. "It makes sense that I should take on Sally. As much as I want Tommy to win this thing I think his odds are better with Haymitch than with me."

Peeta rises and walks over to me.

"Have you considered what Tommy will think?" he asks. "I'm not saying I think you're wrong but he might not see it the way we do. If you can take that step back and choose to mentor Sally for Tommy's sake then I think it's a wonderful gesture on your part but you need to be okay with the implications of it."

I feel even more uncomfortable all of a sudden and swallow hard to try and get the lump out of my throat.

"Tommy knows I love him. And like I said, tradition is that women mentor female tributes. He'll understand. I'll still help him during training."

Peeta turns and looks at Haymitch.

"What do you think, old man?"

"I think you might find yourself in a world of pain if you ever refer to me as  _old_  again."

"Be serious."

Haymitch sighs and leans forward. He's quiet for a moment and then looks up at us with a serious expression on his face.

"Ultimately it's your choice. I think there's a lot of logic to what Katniss proposes but you have to be sure that you can forego your nephew in favour of some girl you'd never seen until a few days ago."

"I won't be foregoing him" I say. "This is what's best for him. I'm giving him the best possible odds."

"As long as you're sure."

I nod slightly and look at Peeta. He looks uncomfortable but doesn't demand that I stay with him and mentor Tommy. I think he understands my line of thinking and he must be agreeing with me or he wouldn't be okay with it.

"Then it is settled" concludes Haymitch.

"Then it is settled" I agree, trying to stop myself from trembling.

 

 

 

That evening we climb into bed and lay down next to each other. It's always difficult, the first night back in the Capitol. So many troubling emotions associated with this city, too many bad memories to even begin to count them. Both of us detest how it's become routine to us now, the proceedings before the Games. Something like this ought to never be part of someone's life.

Normally the week of training is a time when we live in some form of peace. As much peace as the upcoming Games can offer, that is. We still have the chance to influence and help our tributes. The media leaves us alone because we're busy training and coaching. We know that the worst part of the year is right around the corner but it's the calm before the storm and we want to try and create a comforting environment for the children we mentor. Compared to what it's like to see them in the arena this is relatively okay.

We usually have good sex during training week. A month before the reaping all female mentors receive an injection that prevents them from ovulating that month, as the Capitol doesn't want to have to deal with PMS or tampons or anything else that makes the female victors human, nor do they want to risk a female victor ending up pregnant by any Capitol liaisons they might have during the Games. It's one thing for victors to cavort with the people in the city, it's another thing entirely for us to breed with them. This means that the month of the games is the only time of the year when Peeta and I can have sex without worrying about getting pregnant.

The first few years we didn't have sex at all during the month of the Games, feeling wrong to enjoy ourselves in the midst of so much suffering and death. Then one year we lost both our tributes at the initial bloodbath and sought comfort in each other which led to a desperate kind of sex that left us feeling at least a little bit easier at heart. From that point on we've seen sex during the Games as a form of coping mechanism, a way to keep some good in our lives in the middle of all the horror. It's almost an act of defiance, to have something so precious and delightful in an environment where those with power want to suppress and oppress us. Knowing that we can't get pregnant during this time makes us inhibited in a way we can never be otherwise and there are few things that satisfy me as much as the feel of Peeta inside me with no barriers between us, letting him climax without pulling out first. I crave that feeling, long for it during the other eleven months of the year when our options are much more limited.

Tonight as I lay next to my husband in the darkness I wonder if there will be any sex at all this year. I'm not in the mood for it, not one bit, and I can't imagine that he is either. I can't even bring myself to feel bitter or upset that we'll likely miss out on the best sexual part of the year. Our lovemaking during the Games is a way for us to cling to one another and reaffirm our togetherness. Against all of Snow's designs this time of year always brings us closer together even if we've had rough times earlier in the year. The president wanted to drive a wedge between us by binding us together but the month of the games we are closer than any other time. Peeta once said that our genuine closeness despite Snow's best effort to drive us apart seems to turn me on more than anything else when we are in the Capitol. I hope that isn't true. I don't want anything positive in my life to be related to Snow in any way, especially not this.

I reach out my hand and let the tips of my fingers play with the curls on Peeta's head, finding comfort in the light touch.

"I wonder if anything is going to be the same this year" I say.

"I don't know."

"I'm so glad we at least still have each other."

He turns his head to look at me and after another moment moves to lie on his side. He looks so sad and desolate, with little of the hope and warmth I'm used to seeing in him. It makes my heart hurt to see it.

"I'm glad I have you" he tells me.

"I'm glad I have you" I reply.

"This year… These Games… It will be like nothing we've ever lived through before. Worse than all the other years."

"We'll get through this" I say. "Somehow."

"Will we?" he asks in a sigh.

"We can get through anything. As long as we have each other."

"This is never going to be over. You know? Just like our problems weren't over when we had won our Games. When we return home it will either be with a boy dealing with the same anguish we dealt with, only he won't have a district partner who shared his experiences… or we'll return home with his body in a coffin."

"Never mind that now" I say. "There will be plenty of time to deal with that later. Right now let's just think of Tommy and getting him prepared. Okay?"

"You're right." He smiles faintly. "He made a good impression during the parade. Don't you think?"

I smile as well and nod. He did probably make an impression. Caesar and Claudius made a big show out of pointing out how he was related to Peeta and me and the stylists brought back the fire theme to tie in with Peeta's and my year.

My mind goes to when we sat down for dinner afterward and the smile is gone. I couldn't bring myself to tell Tommy that I won't be mentoring him. He was energetic and in more positive spirits than I've seen him since Reaping Day, fuelled by the energy from the crowds during the parade. Sally, on the flip side, barely said a word and ignored the rest of us as best she could. Nobody cared about her during the parade and she knew it. There's a part of me that wonders what it must be like to feel like the whole world is against you or simply doesn't care about you, and I wonder what her family is thinking and feeling back at home. These are the thoughts I must draw on in order to be a fair mentor to her.

"So when do you think we should tell Tommy?" I ask Peeta.

"Let's wait a few days. We'll train them both together, same as we do every year. They don't need to know anything beyond that until the day we prep them for their interviews. I don't want to know what strategy you come up with for Sally and I think it's better if you don't know much about Tommy's."

"I'm not going to use anything I know about your strategy for him  _against_  him" I argue, feeling offended.

"I think it's better if you don't even have to worry about doing something that might work against him, or doing something that would sabotage Sally for that matter." He rolls over on his back again and sighs. "We should get some sleep. We've got one hell of a week ahead of us."

I scoot closer and snuggle up to him, resting my head on his chest the way I've done for so many nights over the past seventeen years. As we lie there in the darkness and try to go to sleep I wonder what it's like for the victors who have to mentor their own children. Peeta and I are the only married couple among the victors, even if there have been some relationships between others over the years. The president doesn't allow for victors to marry each other, except for Peeta and me. I can't imagine going through these upcoming four days and the Games that will follow if I didn't have Peeta with me. What must it be like to have your spouse, the other parent to your child, back home in the district while you carry the responsibility of getting your child home safe on your own shoulders? How does anybody stay sane in those situations?

I snuggle even closer to Peeta, so grateful for his presence here with me in the dark that I don't know how to express it in words.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Family dinner.

The actual meaning of those two words together never registered with me before. I guess I assumed that having dinner with your parents and siblings is the norm and nothing that deserves its own term. I never had aunts and uncles or even grandparents. None that were a factor in my life, anyway.

We've been home in Twelve for about a week when we're first summoned to Family Dinner at the bakery. Even though Peeta is the youngest he is the only one of the Mellark children who has moved out of the house but both Scotti and Ryean have serious girlfriends. In Ryean's case it's actually a fiancée. He proposed to her on her nineteenth birthday right before the Victory Tour but it got overshadowed by Peeta's very public proposal to me and our short engagement.

It feels very awkward to arrive at the bakery as a  _family member_ , though I strongly doubt anybody in that household actually sees me as this. Peeta included. I'm not even sure how I should act when I'm around his family. They know our romance was partly for show but do they know to what extent? Do they think we played up something that already existed or do they know it was an act from the start? Then again I was the only one acting so perhaps they think it's all real, if exaggerated.

It's the first time I've properly met Ryean's fiancée Maggie and Scotti's girlfriend Allie. Maggie Abster is the daughter of a man who works at the Justice Building. She's got dark blonde hair cut in a short bob, brown eyes and has the relatively carefree way about her that in this district can only come if your parents have a job with close ties to the government. Allie Smith is the blacksmith's daughter, twenty-one years of age and with raven dark hair that reaches down to her waist. It's uncommon for a merchant class person to have hair like that but her grandfather was originally a peacekeeper and once his service was over he stayed in the district to marry the girl he loved. From what I gather she had no warm feelings for him but it was a safe income and a relatively safe life. She gave birth to no less than eight children, all inheriting his dark hair. The eighth birth killed her. It's one of those stories that makes me very uncomfortable, especially since people try to tell it as a love story.

To my relief Peeta stays near me. I was worried he might leave my side and go catch up with his brothers or his parents but I think he knows that I'm not comfortable and that he is my only source of comfort. Ryean and Scotti soon retreat to the kitchen to help their parents out but Peeta stays with me in the sitting room, talking to Allie and Maggie. He knows them both fairly well, that much I can tell. They seem to be curious about me, casting glances at me every few minutes, but they don't ask any questions. That's fine by me.

When dinner is finally announced we all sit down by the surprisingly large oaken kitchen table. Ryean explains to me that the table has survived from their grandparents' days, when three families lived in this house at the same time and a large table was needed. I can barely imagine a time when merchant folks had to live so many families in one home but I'm learning a lot of things about people in the town that I never knew before.

"Is it good to be back?" asks Ryean, setting a bowl down on the table.

"Yeah, travelling is nowhere near as fun as one might think" says Peeta.

They make small talk about our latest trip, mostly just about things like what the train is like and what the different districts look like. The bowls of food are being passed around the table and I can feel my stomach growling. I feel very bad for being disappointed when the first bowl is handed to me by Scotti. One thing I have grown pleasantly accustomed to is the good food in the Capitol, and the fact that there's always enough of it. I know very well that I'm looking at a feast by district standards and I don't want to know how much this cost my parents-in-law but in the Capitol it would barely qualify as a decent meal. There are ten potatoes, for a group of eight people. The vegetables are pale in colour and mostly consist of lettuce, cucumbers and what doesn't seem to be more than one tomato. The meatballs in the third bowl smell delicious but they're quite small and a quick glance around the table tells me nobody's taking more than ten or twelve when you'd need at least twenty to fill your stomach. I'm no stranger to leaving the table without feeling full but the reminder of how fast I'm getting accustomed to a new lifestyle surprises me.

"Of course, it was quite relieving to get some privacy" I hear Peeta say. "Before the Games, on the Tour, the time around the wedding, we were always surrounded by people. At least this time around we got some time to ourselves."

"When it's time for a happy announcement I hope you'll have the courtesy of telling us about it before we hear about it on television" says Mrs. Mellark. Somehow she manages to make the words 'happy announcement' to sound more like 'boring announcement'.

"There won't be any children" says Peeta almost casually, and takes a large bite of his dinner.

His mother freezes mid-motion and glares at us. I stare down at my plate, wishing I could be anywhere else in the world but in this room, having this conversation with these people. I can't even bring myself to eat even though I'm starving and I know Peeta's family must have gone to a lot of trouble preparing this meal.

"Excuse me?" says Mrs. Mellark.

"There won't be any children" says Peeta calmly.

"You can't know that."

"I can. We draw the line at being breeders for the Hunger Games."

"But there's no safe way to make  _sure_  you don't have kids" objects Scotti after a moment's pause, looking puzzled. "Did you get hit over the head with something hard when you were in the big city, Peeta?"

"There's one way of being absolutely certain" replies Peeta.

The implication isn't lost to anyone around the table and I desperately hope that I'm not blushing. I poke my food around the plate with my fork, feeling gawked at but by people who dislike me, not people who seem to adore me. So now all the Mellarks know exactly how much of a fraud this marriage is and how empty our lives will probably be. It makes me feel strangely sad to think about it.

"Geez" breathes Ryean. "I don't think I could do that. Live like that."

"You should have children, Peeta" says Mr. Mellark gently after another moment of silence. "No reason why you shouldn't get to have that."

"And have them served to the Capitol as lambs to the slaughter?" He sounds remarkably blasé about it which makes me uncomfortable. "No thank you. Besides, everyone around this table knows that the marriage is just a façade."

Hearing him say it out loud makes me feel humiliated, though I don't know why exactly. Of course Peeta's family would know the truth. I look up to see Ryean and his fiancée sharing a look and reaching for each other's hand. The sight makes me feel sick. The last people I want pity from are Peeta's family members.

"So have you two set a date yet?" Peeta asks his brother between bites, carrying on as if nothing big has been discussed.

"We're thinking April" smiles Maggie, giving her fiancé a loving look. "Before all the fuss with the Reaping and all that. I know that only gives us about three weeks but we figure we'll be able to have everything ready by then."

All the  _fuss_? God I think I'll hate this woman.

"Katniss and I can get you a nice wedding present when we're in the Capitol" offers Peeta. "So long as you don't mind not getting it until after the Games are over."

"I don't want to listen to any bragging from the rich victor" says Peeta's mother in a surly voice.

Peeta closes his mouth tight and looks away. I glare at her but she ignores me, which is probably for the best really. If she gave me so much as the slightest provocation right now I could probably launch at her. My dislike for this woman only seems to grow every time I see her.

"Well," says Maggie with a small laugh, attempting to break the tension, "we're going to have children at least. A lot of children." She turns to me and for the briefest moment I feel fondness of her. I can see that she is uncomfortable too but she's putting on an act to help defuse the moment and I can feel a connection to her because of it. "I come from a big family. I'm the third child of six. I've always wanted a whole house full of kids."

"I draw the limit at four" says Ryean, shoving his last meatball in his mouth. "Unless I can find a good job once Scotti's gotten hitched we'll have a hard time supporting them. District 12 only needs one bakery."

He gives Peeta a pointed look and Peeta makes brief facial expression I can't interpret. I know he'd give his brothers as much food and money as they need if they were to ask for it but he's not likely to want to voice that right now after his mother's comment.

"I sincerely hope you don't plan on doing any baking" Mrs. Mellark says to Peeta. "Other than for your own household of two people. Taking customers away from your family when you don't need the income would be in very bad form."

"Is there any reason why Peeta can't help out here?" I blurt out. I know it's none of my business and I'm probably just making things worse but I can't keep my mouth shut when she's talking him down like that. "Like you said he doesn't need the income but we do need something to do all day. I'm going to be helping my mother out gathering herbs and the like. An extra hand working for free. What's bad about that?"

"Stay out of family business" my mother-in-law tells me shortly.

I turn to look at Peeta and underneath the table I reach out to touch his hand. My fingers barely graze his before he pulls away. He stands up, wipes his mouth on a napkin and announces that he needs to use the bathroom. I watch him go and even though I know he wants some privacy I have a strong desire to go after him. Anything would be better than staying here with these people, even though all of them except Mrs. Mellark are actually trying to make me feel comfortable.

 

 

 

Peeta says nothing while we walk back to the Victors' Village. His silence is unsettling to me. Usually he tries to at least make some form of conversation but right now his mouth is tightly shut and his gaze draws slightly to the left, as if he doesn't want to risk accidentally looking at me. Or as if he wants to be alone. I've never really wondered before if Peeta treasures solitude. He's always seemed so sociable – always surrounded by groups of friends, always seeking out my company. The thought that he might need to be alone from time to time just like I do is new to me.

"Do you want me to…" I begin, hesitating as I try to think of the right thing to say. "I could stop by my mother and Prim. If you want to…"

He shrugs.

"Do as you wish." He leans his head back and sighs heavily. "Sometimes I feel so… lonely when I'm around them."

"Who? Your family?"

"Like I have nothing in common with any of them. I know they're relieved that I'm out of the house. I was always just another mouth to feed anyway."

"Oh…"

What am I supposed to say to that? I've always known his mother was a witch but I try to be careful voicing my opinion in front of him. They are his family after all. No matter how much my own mother has disappointed me I wouldn't take kindly to anyone criticizing her to my face.

I reach out my hand and take his but he pulls it away. He scratches the tip of his nose and then sticks the hand back in his pocket. I hesitate for a moment but then decide that we might as well talk about some of the things that happened earlier tonight. I'm not used to seeing him in a bad mood but I suppose I will have to get used to it. He can't fake happiness all the time.

"Peeta do you think it was wise to tell them… the truth?"

"I try not to lie to my family" he replies shortly.

"Yeah but… in this case the truth is dangerous. To them as well as to you and me."

He gives me a look.

"I don't know why it embarrasses you. Everybody else is going to think we hardly leave bed. What does it matter if my family knows that things aren't that way? There are some lies I don't think I can conceal for the rest of my life, not from my family."

He's asking a good question. Why does it embarrass me? I avert my eyes and look down at my feet as we walk.

"I guess it's just… hard enough to know that we have to put on a show for the rest of our lives. People knowing that it's all a show makes me feel… It makes me feel like one more slice of my dignity is taken away." I look up at him but his eyes are fixated on some spot in the distance. "It's not  _all_  for show anyway" I say softly.

"No" he admits. "Just every significant part."

We've reached our house and I move to walk up to the door but Peeta stops. I turn and give him a confused look. Does he want me to go to my mother and sister anyway?

"Go ahead" he says. "I'm heading over to Haymitch for a while."

"To do what?" I ask, suddenly irritated. "To tell him, too, that our whole life is one big scam?"

"Promised him I'd help him clean up his kitchen. Though I'm betting I will be doing all of the cleaning."

That seems like a completely legitimate reason to go to see Haymitch right now. Still I feel like I'm being snubbed. Does Haymitch's kitchen need cleaning that badly? He never even uses it. More likely Peeta is going over there to talk about the things he doesn't open up to me about. I want him to tell me about his relationship with his family, something I don't even realize until right this moment. I'm very bad at handling situations like that and I have no idea what I would even say if he started talking but all the same I would like to be there for him and be the person he opens up to. But it seems like we lost too much by way of closeness on our wedding night and every time I begin to think he's letting me near again he seems to turn back to cold. Maybe he's just trying to cope, like I am. All I know is I don't recognize this behavior in him at all.

"I'll come with you" I hear myself saying.

"What? No, why would you want to do that?"

"I could help clean the kitchen" I say, walking back up to Peeta. "We can do it together. It will be much faster."

"Yeah but…"

"Unless there's some particular reason why you don't want me around?"

To my surprise his face softens a bit.

"Of course I want you around."

For whatever reason I can't stop the foolish smile that spreads across my face. I walk beside him to Haymitch's house, not realizing until we get there that asking me why I wanted to help out cleaning was a valid question. I'm not very fond of cleaning, even though I'll do my share of it. Volunteering to clean Haymitch's dirty old kitchen, however, is another matter. The smile drops from my face as Peeta raps on the door and walks inside without waiting for an answer. I wrinkle my nose a little at the smell coming from inside the house. Peeta already has his jacket on by the time I walk inside the house and he notices the look on my face.

"You really don't have to" he tells me.

"No" I say. "It's fine."

"Haymitch!" Peeta then bellows, causing me to recoil. "Where are you?"

"You know, from now on, I think you should stop coming over to keep house around here after you've visited your family" comes Haymitch voice in a droll slur. I look up and see him on the stairs, swirling a small tumbler with a handle around his finger. "You're not your usual sunshiny self when you've been to the bakery."

Peeta snorts and stomps off in the direction of the kitchen. Feeling unsure all of a sudden I slowly remove my jacket and hang it over Peeta's. I look up at Haymitch who is still standing on the stairs, looking amused.

"He always comes over to clean something after he's visited his family" he informs me. "If he wants to take his frustration out on my dirty dishes he's more than welcome to."

I feel irrationally annoyed that I didn't know this tidbit. Just like Peeta did I snort at Haymitch and head off in the direction of the kitchen, hearing our old mentor's bellowing laughter coming from the hallway.

Inside the kitchen Peeta is already at work collecting the dirty dishes. With a tired sigh he lifts a sock from a plate and carries it out of the room, heading in the direction of the bathroom where the washing bins are kept. Haymitch, who has followed us into the kitchen, leans against the doorframe and seems entertained by the whole thing.

"At least you can take comfort in knowing he's going to make one heck of a parent" says our old mentor. "Though disciplining the litter is probably going to have to fall on you, sweetheart."

I don't think I can handle one more person talking about us having children, especially Haymitch. I grab the tumbler and pull it from his finger hard enough that he yelps a little. The smile has left his face but he doesn't comment, watching me surly as I gather up the dishes. Peeta comes back and when he sees that I've taken over the dishes he bends over to pick up the various things that are strewn around the floor.

"You could make some woman in the district a very happy housekeeper, you know" comments Peeta. "Or at least a securely employed one."

"And deny you the instrument of venting frustration you so desperately need?" replies Haymitch. "Wouldn't do that to you, boy."

Peeta looks up from the pair of dirty pants he's fished out from underneath a pile of empty brown paper bags.

"You are too kind."

"This place is unusually filthy" I comment, filling the sink up with water and making sure it's hot enough to burn my skin. "Even for you."

Haymitch shrugs, watching Peeta as he leaves to put the pants in the hamper as well.

"The boy's been away for a while. Got married, or so I hear."

Annoyed by his dry comments I slam my hand on the faucet knob, turning the stream of water off.

"What is  _with_  you today?" I ask in a snarl. "I'm really not in the mood for any of your cleverness so if you have something you want to say just spit it out."

"Clearly visiting the Mellark clan has the same effect on you as it does on Peeta" notes Haymitch.

I scowl at him and turn my attention to the dishes. It's astonishing how many dirty dishes one man can produce in a little over a month. I never even knew he owned twenty separate plates. Peeta comes back and walks over to the sink, picking up a few misplaced items sitting by the faucet. He bumps into me and mumbles an apology under his breath. I feel uncomfortable again, as if the mere touch of his hip to mine is related to that thing we're going to have to do but as of yet have not.

"The love fest has cooled down, I take it" notes Haymitch, sounding less teasing now and actually a bit sad. "You know, I hope you two are able to find some way of working with this. Or else it's going to be a long life." Neither one of us answers and Haymitch pulls out a chair and takes a seat. "Did they make you consummate the marriage during the honeymoon?"

I feel my cheeks burning and I can't look at Haymitch or at Peeta. Peeta pauses for a moment and then continues picking up empty bottles and candy wrappers.

"Nothing happened that we didn't choose" he answers cryptically.

There's a pause.

"I hope you'll be able to have things your way" Haymitch then says. "Just don't be too sure about it."

"Yeah" answers Peeta shortly. "I'm taking out the trash. It smells disgusting."

"Great" says Haymitch, following Peeta with his eyes as he leaves the room. His eyes then go to me. "Katniss… If you two do enjoy what you haven't so far… I think your life could be more bearable."

"I'm not the one who refused" I say in a small voice.

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm taking a long time to update... I'll try to do better, I promise =) Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Training week progresses much the same as any other year, oddly enough. The first morning Haymitch explains to Tommy and Sally how everything is going to work and that Peeta and I will be responsible for overseeing both their training during that time. The tributes spend a lot of time down in the training centre without the mentors present; it's not until the final day that we get to have hands-on time with them in the training area. Up until then our job is to give advice, find out their strengths and weaknesses and prepare them as best we can.

There is palpable tension in the room at all times when both tributes are present. Tommy doesn't need to be told that he and Sally get the same information at the same time because we are required to assist both tributes, that part he knew already. The problem is more with Sally, who seems to take everything we say to her as a slight. I constantly have to remind myself of the awful situation she's in to avoid wanting to give up on her entirely. Her attitude is not going to do her any favours.

The first two evenings Peeta and I spend with Tommy in his room. We don't talk about the Games even though it seems like a wasted opportunity to get some extra mentoring in. Peeta says Tommy needs some measure of normalcy, the chance to think about something else for a moment, so that is what we try to give him. I'm not at all convinced that focusing too much on what we've left behind back home is a good idea but I know from experience that the Mellarks think differently than I do in a lot of ways.

We talk about school, about his friends, about his closest family. The second evening Tommy asks if we think his younger siblings will get reaped too.

"There have been siblings reaped back-to-back years" he points out.

"Actually, no" I tell him. "Some career tributes have volunteered the year after their sibling did but it's never happened that the bad luck of the draw has selected siblings consecutive years."

"So that means they're safe?" says Tommy, a hint of hope in his voice for the first time. "That because I'm here they won't have to be?"

I feel a lump in my throat and I sit down next to him on the bed, running a hand through his blonde curls that are so similar to Peeta's. It makes me so proud and at the same time it hurts my heart a little to see him find meaning in the idea that his misfortune would save his siblings. It's a trait I recognize so strongly from his uncle.

"Yes I think so" I tell him.

He smiles in a way that reminds me even further of Peeta.

"Thanks, Aunt Katniss."

We stay until he begins to grow tired. He curls up on the bed and eventually falls asleep, flanked on either side by Peeta and me much like when he was little and would come spend the night at our house. Peeta's brothers often sent one of their children to us for a night, officially for the parents to get a bit of rest but actually because they knew we could fill their stomachs and provide them with a warm bed even in the coldest part of winter.

I share a look with Peeta once Tommy has drifted off to sleep. The boy is still fully dressed and on top of the covers but there doesn't seem to be much point to waking him up. Carefully we get off the bed and Peeta grabs a large, soft blanket which he covers Tommy with. I stand there for a moment wondering if this will be the last time I get to see him sleeping peacefully. I saw Peeta peacefully asleep a few times in the arena but that was when we were teamed up and one could sleep knowing the other kept guard. Tommy will not have that luxury.

"Come."

Peeta's hands are on my upper arms. He's standing behind me but I can see him nodding to the door. I nod slowly, knowing that it's time to go. It's not that late and we might actually be able to have some time for ourselves tonight. We haven't made love since a few days before the Reaping and I long for the comfort of feeling that bond between us.

We leave Tommy's room and come face to face with Sally Masters. She is on her way to her bedroom, which is across the hall from Tommy's, holding a mug of hot milk in her hands. The look on her face when she sees us takes away all my desire to have sex.

"Let's go" says Peeta in my ear, his hand on the small of my back.

My eyes are focused on Sally. She looks at us with disdain but also a sense of triumph, as if she's gotten proof that we're favouring Tommy over her. Not that she needed it proven. Everybody knows it already. I try hard to feel sympathetic to her plight but the attitude in her eyes makes it difficult. It should be a good thing that she doesn't just roll over and wait for death, that she has the gusto to be angry at the unfairness of it all and to want to fight as best as she can. Still it bothers me that she doesn't seem to have any respect for us, her mentors. She had already made up her mind that we would abandon her before we did anything to imply that it would be the case. The fact is we haven't abandoned her. We've coached her these few days just as we've coached Tommy and I'm going to do my best to get her sponsors when she's in the arena.

Sensing my discomfort Peeta urges me forward, pressing his hand into the small of my back. We walk down the corridor to the sitting room, from which we can reach the corridor where our own bedroom is located. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in once we are out in the open area of the sitting room.

"Don't let her get to you" mumbles Peeta in my ear. He then speaks in a normal tone of voice. "I think it's time though that we tell them what the plan is. She deserves to know that she's not alone. And Tommy needs to know how we're dividing our resources."

"You're right" I say but I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Now that we're getting closer to the Games and we're talking about actually telling Tommy that I will mentor Sally first and foremost I don't feel as good about it anymore.

Peeta opens the door to our bedroom and we both walk inside. I hear the door close behind me and then Peeta turns me around and kisses me. Meeting Sally in the hallway doesn't seem to have affected his mood the way it did mine and I'm a little bothered by that because it's a reminder that he gets to stay in Tommy's corner while I don't. At the same time that is very unfair of me since I chose to mentor Sally and Peeta would no doubt prefer it if I changed my mind.

All the same my heart isn't really in it as Peeta moves me back towards the bed. I don't want to deny him this comfort, especially if it's the only comfort I'm capable of giving him, but I'm not fully invested when we have sex and I think he can tell. Even afterward, when he lays slumbering in my arms, I am wide awake thinking about what I have to do these upcoming days.

 

 

 

The following evening we sit down to dinner like any other night. Sally is sulking her way through a large fish with a side of potatoes while Tommy and Peeta crack half-hearted jokes about their grilled chicken and some old story with Peeta's mother. I'm mostly just poking the food around on my plate, eating very little of the plated beef ragout I usually love. Emalda seems to be miles away in her head as she half-heartedly works on a blue cheese salad. Haymitch is the only one eating with a hearty appetite, already on his second serving of stuffed eggplants. He occasionally comments on something Peeta or Tommy says or tries to draw a word from Emalda. He leaves me and Sally alone, perhaps sensing that neither one of us is in the mood to talk.

Once the main courses have been taken away and dessert has been served he seems to decide that it's time to get down to business. It's an odd moment to choose since even Sally seems in bright spirits, once she's tasted the glace-au-four the avoxes brought out for us. Or maybe Haymitch thinks her improved mood make for the perfect timing.

"Well it's been a fun few days of anger, tension and general grouchiness" he says cheerfully, tossing his napkin on the table carelessly. It lands partially in Emalda's dessert and she makes a disgusted sound. "But it's time we talk seriously about what's going to happen these next few days."

The room goes silent as everybody pauses. After a second Emalda pushes her chair back and leaves with an offended snort. I feel a sudden urge to do the same but I know I have to stay here and be a part of this.

"Impeccable timing, Haymitch" comments Peeta. "God forbid any of us got to actually enjoy our ice-cream."

"You can gorge yourself on that stuff in a few minutes" says Haymitch. He points his fork at Tommy, then Sally. "Now listen up. Despite Sally's best efforts to play the martyr and Tommy's little bubble of thinking he's got it made we all know that there will be mentoring to be had for both of you. Peeta and I will stick with the boy and Katniss will mentor the girl. Let that be the end of all grumpy faces and dramatic outbursts."

"Wait" says Tommy with a frown. "You said you and Uncle Peeta will mentor me and that Aunt Katniss…"

I feel myself tense up, my eyes focused on Haymitch. What will he tell Tommy?

"Women mentor female tributes, men mentor male tributes" says Haymitch and I feel myself relax. "Every district that has victors of both sexes have that system. It's how the Games work."

"It doesn't have to be" argues Tommy. "I've seen women mentor their sons and men mentor their daughters." He looks over at me. "Why can't you just switch? Let Katniss be my mentor." He turns to Sally. "Does it really matter to you whether your mentor is Haymitch or Katniss?"

"I don't want her" says Sally, glaring at me from underneath her bangs. "What good will your aunt do me?"

"Then let's just switch."

"This is not up for voting" says Haymitch.

"Why not?" Tommy turns to me. "You'd be happy to switch and mentor me instead. Wouldn't you?"

The whole room falls silent enough for you to be able to hear a pin dropping. Peeta and Haymitch both keep their steady eyes on me, probably for support and encouragement. Tommy looks expectant but I can see some hint of interest beginning to awaken in Sally's face.

"I should mentor Sally" I finally say. "It would be better that way."

"Yeah but you can choose to be my mentor instead!"

I take a moment to gather my courage before answering. He deserves a straight answer, no matter how difficult it is to tell him.

"We talked about it but… but it seems wiser for me to be Sally's mentor."

I haven't even finished speaking before Tommy slams his knife and fork down on the table and pushes his chair back almost violently. He stands up, gives me a glare so full of anger and betrayal that I almost recoil, then he storms out of the room. I barely catch the surprised and somewhat pleased look on Sally's face before I'm on my feet as well. Peeta is only two steps behind Tommy and I stop to draw a breath before I follow them.

"That's enough entertainment for you tonight" I hear Haymitch tell Sally. "Off to your room. Right now."

I follow Tommy and Peeta to the sitting room, not quite sure what to say or do but knowing that I have to calm my nephew down.

"I can't believe this, I  _cannot_  believe this!" Tommy is pacing back and forth in the room, an almost wild expression on his face. I had known he might be upset but I never thought he would have this strong a reaction. "You're training  _her_? You're betraying me for  _her_?"

" _Mentoring_  her" I say. "I will still train you both for what time is left. Tommy she needs a mentor too, and we are in fact required to provide her with one."

"But you're not required to make it be  _you_!" yells Tommy and I recoil at the anger and hurt in his voice. "You're my auntie and you're, you're going to work for the survival of some girl we barely know, when her survival depends on my death?" His voice suddenly changes to a sad plead. "Aunt Niss…"

"You need Haymitch more than you need me" I try to explain to him. "Haymitch has connections far beyond anything Peeta and I have and he is by far your best hope for good sponsorship in the arena. It would be selfish of me to-"

"You're my  _aunt_!" cries Tommy, tears of anger running down his face. "How can you abandon me?"

"Tommy that's not what's happening here" Peeta objects. "Katniss is right. You're better off with Haymitch in your corner."

"Don't defend her" snarls Tommy. He turns to me again. "Haymitch once mentored you both. Why the hell can't he do the same now?"

"I'd rather he focus all his energy on you" I say. "Tommy please, this is much more advantageous for you."

"Don't you get it?" asks Tommy. "It doesn't matter if Haymitch is better at this than you or Uncle Peeta. Neither one of you is all that good, obviously, since there's only been two victors since Haymitch began mentoring about a thousand years ago. What matters is that you're supposed to be in my corner."

"I am."

"Not if you're prioritizing her survival above mine. What will you do if you have to choose between her and me when we are in the arena?"

I hesitate only for half a second but that's enough, I can tell it by the look on his face when I speak.

"I would choose you."

"Then you're backstabbing both of us."

"Thomas, enough" says Peeta. "Believe me, she did not come to this decision easily. It wasn't even all  _her_  decision, Haymitch and I were part of it as well. All we want is to give you the best possible-"

"Why are you defending her, Uncle Peeta?" Tommy sounds calmer now but is still just as angry. "When are you going to stop being her doormat? She's not on our side, why should you be on hers? Do you really think she  _loves_  you? That this whole marriage thing is a reality? It's the worst kept secret in Twelve, hell in all of Panem probably, that the whole thing is a sham and that she never cared about you the way you care about her."

He glares at me and I want to reply, want to protest. I'm just too shocked by what he is saying to be able to utter a single word. I don't recognize the picture he's painting and I can't for the life of me comprehend where he would have gotten that idea. Peeta and I have been a close-knit team for so long, acting no less loving towards one another in public than Tommy's parents or any other couple I know of. It's painful to hear him make such accusations and I don't want to think about how Peeta might feel hearing it.

"Tommy…" Peeta tries.

"She doesn't deserve your loyalty over me" snarls Tommy bitterly. "I'm your blood."

"And she's your aunt."

"Not really, and certainly not by choice. I'm your family and she is not. Don't you dare defend her to me when she's chosen the person whose survival means my death."

He strides off towards his bedroom and Peeta and I stand there in silence for a moment, neither one of us seeming to know what to do or say. I'm finding it hard to think straight, feeling Tommy's words like physical stabs in my chest. I cannot believe he really meant everything he said. I always thought I had a good relationship with him and his siblings and cousins. It frightens me that he might think otherwise, just as it frightens me that he might believe what he said about Peeta and me. I have to talk to him and make him understand. I love him and I can't let him think otherwise.

"Don't!"

Peeta's voice stops me when I move to follow in Tommy's direction.

"I…" I begin, not sure what I want to say or do.

"Let him be. He needs a moment."

"Peeta is right."

I startle at the sound of Haymitch's voice. Has he been listening this entire time? He takes a few steps further into the room and leans against the counter to the bar.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask.

"About ten seconds. The boy is right. Let your nephew have a chance to cool off and digest all of this."

Without saying a word Peeta walks out of the room in the direction of our bedroom. I move to follow but Haymitch holds up a hand to stop me. Apparently he doesn't think I should have access to either one of them at the moment.

"Leave me alone, Haymitch" I sigh.

"We need a moment to talk."

"About what? My nephew hates me and thinks I betrayed him. What else do you think makes a difference to me right now?"

"Ever heard of melodramatic teenagers? A little bit of under-aged angst? Ever noticed he has the same dramatic flair as his mother?" Haymitch reaches for a pitcher of water and fills up a glass. "He'll be fine."

"And what if he isn't?"

"Then he isn't." He takes a few large gulps from the glass and sets it down on the bar with a bang. "While the three of you have been engrossed in your family feud I've been speaking to the gamemakers. It's now official that you are mentoring Sally Masters and that Peeta and I mentor Tommy."

"Perfect" I mutter.

"You can still change your mind, you know. I could call them back."

I think it over for a moment. It's tempting, oh so very tempting. But the thought of Tommy being at a disadvantage because Peeta and I couldn't get him sponsorship where Haymitch would have been able to makes it impossible to choose differently.

"Thank you" I say. "But I still believe I made the right decision. I just… need for Tommy to understand that."

My eyes go in the direction Peeta left. It makes me deeply unhappy to think about him having to hear the things Tommy said, even if he knew none of it was true. Haymitch might be right in that Tommy needs a bit of space right now but when it comes to Peeta I don't want there to be any space at all. I have to talk to him, have to have reassurance that at least between him and me things are alright.

 

 

 

 

I push the door open slightly, as always finding it a little eerie how none of the doors here ever creak. I step inside the bedroom and find Peeta on the bed, wearing only his shirt and a pair of boxers, rubbing ointment on the stump of his leg. The prosthetic lays next to him on the bed together with the wrinkled pants he wore earlier. He glances up at me for a second and then returns his focus to the task at hand. Carefully I close the door behind me and walk up to him.

"Don't worry about what he said" I say carefully. "Tommy's... He's afraid. He doesn't mean all the things he says right now. He's lashing out."

"I know all that" replies Peeta shortly, picking up the bottle of ointment. He squirts another dab of the liquid into his palm and begins to rub it on the stump. He then looks up at me with an expression that's hard to read. "It's not like he told me anything I didn't already know."

I feel a jolt of pain and worry go through me at those words. He returns his eyes to his leg, brushing it all off as no big deal, but it's actually a huge deal. It's been an unspoken pact between us all these years to never talk about our feelings for one another and I always thought that there was no real need to. I know Peeta loves me and I thought he knew that I have really strong feelings for him as well. I can't have him doubting my affections. He's going through enough as it is right now. He shouldn't have to feel like his wife doesn't love him.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and open my mouth to say his name but a firm knock on the door interrupts me.

"Katniss?" comes Emalda's voice from the other side of the door.

"Oh, what does  _she_  want?" I grumble.

"Katniss I have two bankers waiting for you downstairs. They want to discuss possible sponsorship for Sally!"

I turn my face from the door to Peeta, exasperation probably written on my features. Sponsors very rarely set up meetings with us before the Games have even begun so I should milk this opportunity for all that it's worth. I just don't want to have to do it right now. I want to stay here and make sure Peeta knows that Tommy was wrong in what he said. I don't even feel any conflict in the matter, even though that makes me a horrible mentor. Staying with my husband and making sure he feels okay and that he doesn't doubt what he means to me is more important to me than securing early sponsors. Especially when those sponsors would be helping a tribute other than our nephew.

"You should go" says Peeta gently, no trace of negativity in his voice, only encouragement. His hands are still working on the stump in slow, steady motions and I find myself wanting to stay here and rub his leg for him, anything to remind him of my affection for him. "Hurry. Before they decide they don't want an early sponsorship talk after all and leave."

"Peeta…" I begin but he lifts a hand and stops me.

"Go. Really, you should."

I can't shake the feeling that he's dismissing me, wanting time alone without having to talk about this with me. Emalda knocks again, more insistently this time, and I know I have to go. I look at Peeta again and want so badly to kiss him before I go but I don't think he wants me to do that right now. Instead I hold back a sigh and leave the room, trying to muster any form of interest in procuring sponsors for Sally Masters.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it's been more than a month since my last update. Sorry about that. I hope the chapter's worth the wait.

 

 

Before we know it May has come around and it's time for the Quarter Quell Reaping. Peeta and I have slowly grown accustomed to living under one roof, though it's quite difficult. Being around each other that much when we have the issue of whether or not we will be forced to have babies hanging between us makes it harder than I had imagined. It's like neither one of us knows what we truly are to one another nowadays. Peeta keeps his distance, spending most of his days in town with his family, usually followed by a few hours over at Haymitch's house. I spend time in the woods, longing for Sundays and hoping that Gale will be there. Sometimes he comes but it's different now somehow.

The only physical contact I have with Peeta is either by accident or when I've woken up from a nightmare. His arms are still there to comfort me in the night and in a strange way I've grown to cherish those moments. It feels good to be wrapped in his arms, protected by his affection, not having to feel like I am all alone.

Ryean and Maggie had a toasting ceremony in the last week of April, about two months after Peeta's and my wedding. Their marriage could not have gotten off to a more different start compared to ours. Instead of lavish gowns, hundreds of guests in attendance, formal ceremonies, expensive food and the bride being walked down the aisle and handed to the groom like a commodity the wedding in April had borrowed clothes, a private signing of papers, a small gathering of friends and family, a small meal and a toasting ceremony. But it also had genuine smiles from the two being wed, real happiness and two people who are so obviously in love. It made me feel even more like a fraud and like my whole life is nothing but a poor charade.

On the morning of the reaping Peeta and I are woken up at the break of dawn. Two sets of prep teams come through the door, one leading Peeta upstairs and the other taking me to the downstairs bathroom. I find it ludicrous that they show up so early when the Reaping doesn't begin until the afternoon but there's no point in protesting, even though I would much rather be out in the woods with Gale like I always used to be on Reaping Day. It disappoints me that Cinna and my original prep team aren't the ones taking care of me now. They are in the Capitol, waiting for the girl tribute whose name Effie will draw today.

This new team can't seem to stop talking about how they can't believe it's only been a year. I have to agree with them. Twelve months ago I was just another Seam brat, wanting nothing more than to get through the Reaping unscathed, feed my family and live out a life of comparative solitude. Today I am a Hunger Games victor, one half of the star-crossed lovers of District 12, somebody's wife and currently the biggest celebrity in the country. I can only hope that whoever wins this year will be considered interesting enough to take focus off of Peeta and me but I don't have much hope, even though it is a Quarter Quell. Peeta and I are likely to be the main attraction for a long time yet.

Hand in hand with Peeta I leave the house, pretending not to see the camera team who are there to shoot "authentic" moments to intercut with the overall District 12 feed later on in the day. It's the first time since the toasting that Peeta and I have had to put on a performance. I can't figure out if it feels good or bad to have him show me affection for the benefit of the camera crew.

His arm comes to wrap around my waist and his lips brush against my cheek. I look up at him with a smile that can only barely hide my distress at having to be on stage for a reaping. He leans in and whispers to me that we'll get through it, but I don't feel particularly comforted.

Once we arrive on stage I look out over the much smaller crowd of possible tributes, feeling sick to my stomach. I force myself to keep my eyes open even though I would like nothing more than to close them and not open them again until the whole thing is over and done with. I hold Peeta's hand tight and fervently pray that the two tributes will be nineteen year-olds and not eleven year-olds.

 

 

 

Somehow I make it through the Reaping, the ride to the Capitol, training week. I make it through without cracking, without showing weakness. I make it through without being a team with Peeta, spending most of my time apart from him as he plans the male tribute's strategy and I do the same for the female. In public we hold hands, smile, and whisper meaningless things in each other's ear. We don't kiss. Each day I feel myself slipping a little bit more but I am still able to hold it together. I have to. For the sake of the girl I'm mentoring I have to. I can't let her know of my own discomfort when her agony is fifty times greater than mine. I hold it together even as I say goodbye to her the morning of the Games.

When I ride the elevator back up to the twelfth floor I'm shaking. Never before in my life have I understood so well the need for some of the victors to turn to drink or morphling. If only I had at least gotten to mentor someone who stood a sliver of a chance. Starting out by mentoring a terrified eleven year-old makes me feel sick to my very core. The look on her face, the way her body trembled, the sound of her voice when she said goodbye to me is etched into my mind and will probably never go away.

I reach the top floor and somehow manage to walk out of the car. I stop in the hallway, unable to move. Then I hear footsteps and I look up, seeing Peeta walking in from the sitting room. The look in his eyes is full of compassion and of the same horror that I'm feeling. At least he had Haymitch with him when he said goodbye to his tribute and at least he's mentoring a nineteen year-old, someone actually two years older than Peeta himself, but all the same it's horrible. He holds out his arms to me and as fast as my legs can carry me I walk into his embrace, burying my face at his neck, shaking as if I'm freezing. His embrace is the only thing that has felt good in the past several days.

"Come" he says after a moment. "Haymitch wants to talk to us."

I nod slowly, still trembling, and reach for his hand as we pull apart. I need him right now, need his closeness to tether me, and on an instinctive level I know that he's not going to turn away from me. It's like an unspoken agreement between us that we need each other now. We walk close together towards the sitting room, hand in hand, Peeta giving me looks every few seconds to make sure I'm alright even though we both know that neither one of us is even close to okay.

In the sitting room Effie is pacing back and forth, nervously chewing on the end of a hand fan. Is she always like this before the Games begin? She seems more human now than I ever think I've seen her before. Haymitch seems calm and collected, though he's probably aided by alcohol to achieve that effect. He's standing by the television screen with a remote control in his hand and points it at us when we walk up to him.

"Newlyweds, on the couch."

I share a look with Peeta.

"That sounds dirty" Peeta attempts to joke but all it earns him is a smack on the shoulder from Effie's fan.

"What's that in your hand?" I ask Haymitch.

"This…" he says, waving it around in circles, "is the remote control that we use during the Games. Now have a seat like good little mentors so we can get this done with. The tributes left late this morning which means the arena can't be all that far from here. The Games begin in about forty-five minutes so let's make sure we are prepared."

I walk over to the couch and sit down. Peeta sits down on the armrest, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm going to go get some water to drink" says Effie, sounding stressed.

"Make that one part water, nine parts gin" suggests Haymitch. "You need it. Stop making the new ones jittery."

"We're not jittery" says Peeta, sounding completely calm.

"We're not exactly new either" I mutter.

Effie stalks off, her heels making clicking noises as she goes. Haymitch holds up the remote again and walks closer to us so we can see it better.

"This," he says, "controls the channels that broadcasts the tributes. As mentors we are allowed access to channels that focus on our tributes only. One for the girl, that would be channel twenty-five, and one for the boy, channel twenty-six."

"Shouldn't it be twenty-three and twenty-four?" asks Peeta.

"Channel one is the main feed" explains Haymitch. "It shows the same thing that is broadcast to the rest of the country, only without any cutbacks to the studio. Channel two shows Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, if you want commentary. There's also a channel zero which shows what the rest of Panem sees, meaning a combination of channels one and two."

"Riveting" says Peeta.

"Take this seriously, please" says Haymitch.

"What happens if we press, say, channel eight?" I ask. "Do we get the male tribute from District 7?"

"No, all we can access are our own tributes. It gives an unfair advantage if mentors can keep exact track of the other tributes at all times."

"How is that an unfair advantage?" asks Peeta. "If all mentors can see everything that's going on then the playing field should be even."

"Except that means mentors can't form strategies based on the actions of their tributes. Of course, anything that's actually interesting will probably end up on the main feed anyway but you'd be surprised at how many twists and turns over the years have come from mentors picking up on things about their tributes on the private screens."

He continues the tutoring on how the remote works and what things we should keep in mind. There's a big common room downstairs where all mentors can gather and watch the Games together but the only available feed is the main feed. Each district has its own conference room downstairs as well where mentors can bring prospective sponsors. These rooms are also used for allowing two or more mentors from the same district to watch both the female and the male feed since the television in the suites can only be tuned in on one channel at a time.

"And finally," says Haymitch, "you need to know where to find the room where we select, purchase and send out sponsor gifts." He looks at me. "The Hob of the Hunger Games, if you will."

"I've always wondered, can sponsors decide what gifts their money will buy?" asks Peeta, shifting a bit on the couch. "Or do we as mentors have full say?"

"They can put in requests. It is usually wise to follow those requests or that same sponsor might not come back next year, or later in this game. If you're looking to acquire something in particular, like the burn cream I sent to Katniss last year, then you should open with that in your pitch."

"Our pitch?" I echo.

"Yes, your pitch." Haymitch gives me a look like I'm a complete idiot. "They're not just going to waltz in here offering you money, sweetheart. You're going to have to suck up to them. Court them. Convince them why your tribute deserves their money."

"I'll be horrible at that" I say, looking down on the floor, having a strong feeling that no female tribute from District 12 will ever get a single sponsor gifts as long as I'm responsible for procuring it.

"You'll get the hang of it. You know how to barter, right? You've done that at the Hob? Well this is like that, only you have to be likeable and personable and all the other things your husband is and you are not."

I roll my eyes but pay attention as he continues his long lesson on how the sponsorship works. By the time he is finished Effie has returned and the TV has been tuned in to channel zero.

"It can be helpful to watch the two eggheads right before the whole thing kicks off" says Haymitch, giving a nod to Claudius and Caesar. "If you're lucky you might get an inclination as to which tributes are most popular at the moment."

"Will that have changed since last night?" questions Peeta.

"Sometimes."

Haymitch walks over and sits down on the couch, looking decidedly tenser now. He reaches for the large glass of liquor sitting on the table in front of him and I almost wish I had a drink of my own. Effie tells Peeta to sit down properly and not hang over the furniture like a barbarian and he walks over to where I'm sitting. I feel the couch dip as he gets up on it and then I feel him sitting down right behind me, his legs on either side of me. It's a surprisingly intimate position and I find it immensely comforting even if his front isn't touching my back. Just having him near feels reassuring.

"Alright, this is it!" says Caesar Flickerman, brimming with barely withheld excitement. "In a few short moments the tributes will be in the tubes and the arena will be revealed to us. The excitement is  _palpable_!"

I close my eyes hard and fight the budding panic in my chest. I remember so vividly what it was like last year in those last moments before it all began. What it felt like to walk inside that tube and the utter terror when the glass comes down around you. I think of the petrified eleven year-old girl in that launch room right now and I wonder if Cinna is able to make her feel better. He couldn't take away my terror a year ago and at least I knew I had a fighting chance.

I feel like I'm back in that launch room, back in that tube. Those last few precious moments of guaranteed life and safety before being thrown into an arena you only had a one in twenty-four chance of coming out of alive. The absolute horror you feel in that moment. Knowing in the back of your mind that while you are feeling your life slipping away from you there are people in the Capitol who are  _excited_  and will enjoy immensely whatever happens to you. I don't think I have ever known fear worse than in those moments, even in the arena itself. I can't stand the knowledge that a poor eleven year-old girl is going through that right this moment.

I feel Peeta's arms wrap around me and pull me back against his broad chest. I draw a trembling breath and thank the heavens that he is there. Right now he is the only thing tethering me to the ground, preventing a full-blown panic attack. I open my eyes and move my head so that our cheeks press together, my hands reaching up and grabbing his upper arms.

I'm barely aware of the screen fading from the studio where Flickerman and Templesmith comment on events to the inside of the arena where the tributes are being raised to the ground. Not until I see the tributes, some so terribly young, look around in confusion. Some of the eleven year-olds are crying and shaking with fear, all of the nineteen year-olds look fairly calm even though some of their faces suggest that they dread the bloodbath that is going to follow. A fourteen year-old killing a twelve year-old is horrifying to watch but when you're in the arena it becomes something else, two children who are at least fairly close in age fighting for their own survival. Seeing nineteen year-olds slaughtering children eight years younger than themselves is just barbaric. I doubt a single one of the younger tributes is going to survive the day.

The countdown gives us a moment to get a glimpse of the arena. This year it's almost absurd in its design. We won't get a look at the full arena until after the bloodbath is over but they do an aerial sweep to give you an idea of the immediate surroundings. It seems Seneca Crane wanted to do something new this year, possibly to redeem himself from his monumental failure last year in letting both Peeta and I survive. The podiums around the cornucopia are in a circle-round meadow. Surrounding it is a village. A village of gravel roads and small cottages, most of which only seem to serve as backdrops because they don't appear to have any doors. However the foundations of some of the houses rest on large rocks, providing possible hiding spaces underneath a house for someone small enough to crawl under there. God only knows if some other threat lies waiting there. Still, seeing it on television this way it looks like something out of a history book. It's quaint, which is the last thing you think of when you think of the Hunger Games.

The countdown nears its end and the screen shows brief shots of each of the tributes in the order of how they're standing on the podiums. We get a glimpse of the cornucopia, full of weapons and small gunny bags containing God knows what. Seeing the weapons turns my stomach. Those weapons will in less than twenty seconds be taking the lives of eleven year-old children. Some of the nineteen year-olds will probably be killed as well but I can't muster up the same sympathy for them right now. At least they look more adult. At least they stand a chance.

The countdown reaches zero and I feel Peeta exhale sharply. So it begins. The third Quarter Quell.

 

 

 

I feel numb inside as I stand in the middle of the crowds, watching the recap of the 75th Hunger Games and third Quarter Quell. As predicted our tributes didn't do so well. The girl survived ten minutes, the boy seven days. This year's winner is a District 2 male called Scipio, a huge, big brute of a nineteen year-old who looks cocky and completely unaffected by the ordeal he has been through as he sits up on the stage next to Caesar Flickerman, watching the Games unfold on screen.

At key points we are expected to applaud, cheer and even sometimes laugh. When those moments come Peeta usually gives me a light nudge to remind me to smile in case the camera is on us. Can't let anybody know how appalled we are by all of this. Peeta, Haymitch and I are even expected to appear proud because one of our tributes was killed by Scipio and we should feel honoured that the winner was the one to take our tribute's life. This is a whole side of the Games that I've never given much thought to. I despise it as much as every other part of the show.

Peeta's arm is linked with mine, never letting go even when we are applauding. We've been seeking comfort in each other since the Games began and I've begun to nurture the hope that things might be better when we return home. That we have turned a corner of some sort and can be on true friendly terms again.

Once Caesar has wrapped up the show there is a lot of mingling to be had and it hasn't been more than a minute before somebody approaches Peeta and I. I recognize her as the District 6 escort and a friend of Effie's. She smiles brightly at us and gives us each a kiss on the cheek.

"So lovely to see you" she crows.

"Likewise" says Peeta politely.

"How do you feel, no longer being the reigning victors?"

I want to answer that it took the death of 23 children to accomplish it so therefore it's hard to find anything good in it at all. Instead I smile, lean against Peeta's shoulder and give her an answer I think she'd find more appropriate.

"It's been an overwhelming year but we are more than happy to welcome somebody new to have the spotlight." I glance up at Peeta with what I hope is a lovesick expression. "The one thing we haven't gotten this past year is enough time to ourselves."

The woman puts a hand to her heart and I think I see tears in the corner of her eyes.

"Of course" she says. "Of course." She leans in closer and lowers her voice to a coquettish whisper. "I hope you will soon bring us the happy news of an upcoming birth!"

I feel Peeta tense up beside me but the woman is too absorbed in her enjoyment of the evening to notice. She flutters off to talk to somebody else and I hide my face against Peeta's shoulder for a brief second, feeling utterly disappointed that even on the eve of crowning a Quarter Quell victor people still care far too much about Peeta and me having a baby together.

"Babies here and babies there, that's all these people ever seem to think about" mutters Peeta. "When they're not glorifying the slaughter of children, that is."

I lift my head and shush him. It's not safe to utter such thoughts in a public place, no matter how loud the crowd around us is being.

"Let's just dance" I say. "It will give us something to do that will discourage people from coming up to us to talk."

I lead him to the dance floor and we begin to move to the music. I don't know if it's just my imagination or if people around us actually are cooing at the sight of us. I feel quite sure that Scipio will grow to despise us, if he doesn't already, for stealing his thunder.

We dance two more dances and then Peeta excuses himself to go to the bathroom. I'm reluctant to let him go, feeling isolated and vulnerable without him, but I can't very well follow him into the men's room. While I wait for him to return I walk over to a table full of fruits and tiny cookies and I pick out a thin slice of melon. I had never even heard of melon before coming to the Capitol and I can't say that I care for it much. It has very little taste and doesn't seem to be as nutritious as apples or pears considering how much water is in a slice. I eat the piece of fruit and reach out to grab a cookie when a voice right by my ear makes me jump.

"Alone at last, girl on fire."

At least the voice is familiar. Finnick Odair, playboy of District 4, probably the most popular victor of all time. He is standing close enough that when he leans in to take a slice of melon his entire front is pressed against my back and I very hastily move aside so that we're no longer touching.

"I don't know about you, but I think fifty is a crowd" I reply dryly.

He laughs a little, flashing those pearly white teeth.

"I've been meaning to get close to you since we arrived here for the Quell" he says, eating the melon and then licking his fingers slowly in what I can only assume is supposed to be a sexy fashion. "But your baker never seems to leave your side for long."

I'm tempted to reply that if he thinks so then he obviously hasn't been looking but I hold back the urge.

"Now you've spoken to me" I say instead. "You can check that off your list and die a happy, accomplished man."

He laughs and it bothers me to acknowledge that it's a pleasant sound.

"Trust me, fire girl, there are a lot of things left on my list of unaccomplished accomplishments." He picks up a cherry and sticks it in his mouth, chewing it for a few seconds and then swallowing it, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. "And I am nowhere near accomplished enough with you."

I look in the direction of the bathrooms, wondering if Peeta won't return soon. I'm beginning to feel very uncomfortable but I can't think of anything to say that would excuse me from the conversation.

"So how's mentoring?" asks Finnick.

"What? Oh…" I shrug. "It's fine."

"Fine, huh?" His eyes travel over my body and I feel myself pulling back a little. "I hope you and your dear husband have been able to get enough quality time since Reaping Day. Would be a shame to keep everyone waiting for that lovechild, no?"

Oh god, not him as well.

"What's it to you?" I ask in a snarl that reveals far too much of my inner emotions.

"Nothing, really…" says Finnick, sounding far too casual. He reaches over for another piece of fruit. "In the interest of full disclosure I think it's a crying shame you two were in such a hurry to be married."

This catches my interest, though I try not to let it on.

"Oh?"

"Such a lovely, fiery girl…" he says. "Crying shame that you'd be a taken woman within a year of your victory. You could have had a lot of… fun… here in the Capitol."

There's an undercurrent in what he's saying that makes me deeply uncomfortable. It doesn't sound like he's saying he would like to take me to bed. It almost sounds like a cloaked warning.

"I have sufficient fun as is" I say, averting my eyes.

"Are you?" The blunt question make me blush. "Not to imply that your husband doesn't know what he's doing… but you don't know what you are missing, do you? Got nothing to compare it to, I mean."

"I know that whatever it is that I'm missing it's something that I never wished to have" I answer back, almost breathing an audible sigh of relief at the sight of Peeta coming back and locating me.

Finnick follows my gaze and then turns to me with another smile, though this one doesn't seem quite as genuine.

"Well if you ever do tire of the monogamous life and begin to wonder what more a bedroom has to offer then you're in luck. This  _is_  the Capitol."

A poisonous reply about his own sexual escapades is about to leave my mouth when Peeta reaches up to us and speaks before I get a chance to.

"Hello Finnick."

The bright smile is back on the older man's lips.

"Peeta" he greets with a nod. "Just keeping your delectable wife company while she waits for your return."

"And now you're back and I want another dance" I announce, grabbing Peeta by the hand and leading him out on the dance floor before either one of them has the chance to say anything else.

"What does 'delectable' mean?" mumbles Peeta in my ear as we begin to dance.

"Ignore him" I say. "He's just being a creep. It's what comes natural to him. Like spearing people with a trident."

"He looked like he'd want to spear you with something other than a trident."

"Peeta!" I gasp.

"Sorry, but it makes me a little uncomfortable to see how some of the men here look at you. Scipio, for instance."

He feels like such a hypocrite to me in that moment. Acting the part of a jealous husband when he himself is trying hard to keep our marriage a mere façade. Up until now I haven't been entirely comfortable either with some of the looks I've been getting but suddenly I don't mind them. They feel like validation. At least some men in this room would like to take me to bed, unhindered by Peeta's ideas of propriety and morality. It seems insane that the one man in this room who is allowed to have me whenever he so pleases has made up his mind to never touch me like that. Even more insane because he's not refusing out of dislike or lack of attraction but because he loves me.

That thought softens me a little.

"Let them look" I hear myself say, resting my cheek against his chest. "They'll never dare to touch me as long as I have you."

But when I think of the things Finnick Odair said to me earlier I get a gnawing feeling that I might not have spoken the real truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I promise I will try to have the next chapter up soon.  
> And thanks to hgfan for pointing out my error re: Scipio's home district!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly this is not a chapter I like very much. There's only really one scene in it that I'm pleased about. But I've gotten tired of trying to rework it so I've decided to post it the way it is and hope it measures up okay.

 

 

I have a headache and long to go back to my bedroom and crawl between the sheets. The last thing I feel like doing is coaching Sally Masters on how to handle her interview with Caesar Flickerman. Yet here I am, early in the morning, sitting in an armchair opposite the most sullen tribute I have ever had the pleasure of mentoring. I understand her grumpy mood perfectly, see a bit of myself in her even, but that doesn't mean I feel like tolerating it. Especially not this morning and especially not so close to the Games.

Tommy hasn't spoken a word to me since he found out I will mentor Sally. Peeta has been closed off as well, claiming he needs to focus on Tommy right now. I don't see why he can't talk to me and let me assure him that my feelings for him are genuine, and still focus on being Tommy's mentor. It's wearying and disheartening and I'm spending way too much time thinking about it when I ought to be focusing more on my own tribute. I have to give Sally an honest chance and a solid effort. She and I both know I would rather have Tommy survive but I would rather see her crowned victor than any of the twenty-two tributes from the other districts.

Right now she is sitting opposite me in a bright green armchair, one leg pulled up underneath her. She's wearing a scowl that probably mirrors the one Haymitch calls my trademark and she's chewing absentmindedly on a strand of her long, dark hair. It's more than a little obvious that she doesn't believe this session will do her any good but I am determined to give her some solid advice and help her as best I can.

"So your interview is tomorrow" I begin.

"Do we have to do this?" she interrupts. "I'm sure I can do perfectly well on my own. I'd rather be in my room-"

"Be quiet" I snarl, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Do you want to know the first secret to doing well in the Games?"

"Being related to your mentors?" she asks cockily.

"Being likeable. How do you expect to win sponsors if nobody likes you? Do you think the rest of Panem will automatically ignore you because of Tommy? I have news for you Sally, that's not the way it works."

She shifts a little in her chair. I can see that she's trying hard to maintain her aloof expression but it's clear that some bit of interest has been sparked in her.

"Yeah?" she says, attempting to sound like she doesn't care at all.

"Yes. Tommy is a Mellark but he's not mine and Peeta's child. Being related to us might not give him any favors at all. In fact, all it might do is put a great, big bulls-eye on his back. Or make people put insanely high expectations on him which he will never be able to live up to. His family tree is no hindrance to you in the Games. Stop using the fact that he is our nephew as an excuse for you to not even try."

She frowns and sits up straight.

"I haven't done anything of the sort."

"You have done nothing but" I argue. I know it's not entirely true, she does train hard at a number of different stations during the training sessions, but right now I need to start to feel motivated on all levels and I want to make her feel like she  _can_  depend on me as her mentor and lifeline. "You don't think you stand a chance because you're a Seam kid, a poor girl from the poorest district, and the district with the fewest winners to boot. Your district partner being mine and Peeta's nephew has given you an excuse to not even try to win, to just play the martyr and the victim. That's not going to work any longer. This is your life on the line and you should do everything in your power to fight for it. It's time you showed some bit of effort and gave us a few good reasons to want to see you win these Games. So far all I've seen is a sullen, grumpy, cowardly girl who has already given up and who will probably take a seat on her platform and cross her arms and sulk, waiting for a dagger or a sword to come flying her way."

Sally looks visibly shaken. I stop myself, not quite sure where this rant came from or why I'm taking my personal pain out on an innocent girl whose situation is a lot worse than my own. It's no secret that Peeta is the nice one and I'm the grumpy one but I wasn't aware that I was this unpleasant.

"I want to know what qualities you have that might help you win this thing" I say, my voice a touch softer. "You've shown and told us nothing about yourself. Tell me five things you are good at, whether it be wielding a knife or charming an audience or knitting socks."

For the next half hour I have a very stilted conversation with Sally. She still doesn't seem to like being mentored by me and I can't say that I've warmed up much to her personality but at least she seems to be growing a little less inclined to feeling sorry for herself and a little bit more determined to actually fight.

We spend the rest of the morning working on her interview strategy. It's not a particularly good one but the interviews have never been my strong suit. Once we are done and we go to have lunch my headache seems to have gotten worse. The boys and Emalda are already present when we enter the room and I wonder if it's just my imagination or if the air got colder in the room when Sally and I walked in.

I take my seat next to Peeta, glancing at Tommy across the table. He ignores me completely but at least that feels preferable to being subjected to an ice-cold stare. His mind seems to be somewhere else entirely, probably still reeling from the awkward experience that I know Emalda's interview prepping is. Peeta seems distant too and mostly talks to Haymitch. I want to put my hand on his thigh under the table but I'm worried that if I do he will shrug my hand away. I can't handle that.

After lunch Emalda and Sally leave to continue her preparation. A few minutes later Haymitch, Peeta and Tommy all rise to go and work on preparing his interview. I rise as well but when I move to leave the table Haymitch stops me with a hand on my arm, no doubt guessing what I'm thinking of.

"You shouldn't be a part of this prep session" he tells me in a low voice. "It's unfair to Sally. And I don't think it will benefit Tommy to have you there. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but right now you are what he channels his fear onto. It's better that you're not there. Give him the chance to concentrate."

He leaves and I am all alone. I look around the room, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling cold even though they always keep the room at 22 degrees centigrade. Sally is with Emalda for the rest of the day, the boys will be locked in until dinner and the stylists are hard at work preparing the outfits for the interviews tomorrow. I have nothing to do and nobody to talk to.

Making a snap decision I head for the elevators. I don't normally associate much with the other mentors. Some are friendly people and perhaps I would have been able to make friends with them if we had met in a world with no Hunger Games but I can't shake the connection they have to these deadly events. Almost every single victor from the very beginning of the Games has found comfort and familiarity in our private little club. The fellow victors are the only human beings alive who can understand what you feel after the Games and who know how it changes you as a person. They are the only ones who know about what goes on once you've won the Games. The only ones still alive who know what it's like in the arena. I can appreciate why that binds them together but I've never had the need for that. I have Peeta. I also have Haymitch and that's usually enough for me.

I'm well aware that I see my fellow victors in a different light than others do. When they look at each other they see kindred spirits but when I look at them I see the mentors of the tributes who will be trying to kill my own tributes. It's not their fault and I have so much more respect for those among them who bend till they break to help the kids they mentor than for those who are resigned and crawl into a bottle or lose themselves in a morphling haze. But the survival of their tributes come at the cost of the lives of mine. I respect them, some I even like, but I don't want to associate with them.

Today I'm making one of my exceptions. It happens every so often and to their credit they mostly welcome me when I do show up. I would understand completely if they turned me away but it seems like they're fascinated by me, in part because of my reclusiveness. Because of my choice to withdraw from the victors group Peeta doesn't spend a whole lot of time with them either, choosing to be with me instead of them, but when we do associate with them he's much more open and friendly and I know he's made a few friends among the group over the years. During the actual Games he often volunteers to use the television in the conference room to keep track of our male tribute which means he has the opportunity to also spend time in the common room among other mentors. Occasionally it happens that I show up among the group without Peeta but it's been three years since the last time and I don't think any of them are expecting me now.

Once I reach the mentors' floor and step off the elevator I'm surprised by how quiet and empty the place is. I can see two morphlings from Six playing a board game, or rather moving pieces around a board at random while laughing at nothing at all. A mentor from Two is perched on a bar stool by the counter where they place celebratory drinks for us when the Games have begun and when they have ended. Those drinks are usually downed with gusto and eagerness but not out of celebration. Nobody else is in the room and it occurs to me that there naturally wouldn't be a lot of people here right now. Everyone should be busy prepping their tributes. Still, some of the districts are overflowing with mentors and I can't believe the tributes from those districts need them all to be there right now.

The mentor by the counter is looking at me when my eyes go back to him. He smirks and slowly gets down from his bar stool. I hold back a sigh. His name is Ajax, he won the 87th Games at age eighteen and he usually comes up to us whenever we mingle with the rest of the group. I've always suspected it's Peeta he's really interested in but everyone knows we're monogamous and if you want to bed one of us you're going to have to take the other as well. In theory. Peeta and I have never let anybody else into our bed and we're never going to but some of the victors seem to think it's the most amazing challenge of all time to try and bed the pair of us. That, or they are bitter and jealous. Nobody says anything about it out loud but it's obvious that those of them who sleep around with Capitol citizens don't always do it out of their own free will. I know from experience that Snow and his people are not above controlling our sex lives.

Ajax approaches and I wrinkle my nose. He's attractive, if you like the muscular brute look. Tall, strong, chiseled features, dark brown eyes and hair almost as blonde as Peeta's. He's had no shortage of people to warm his bed and thus far he seems to accept the people he's asked to sleep with without question but sooner or later that is bound to change. He smells of after shave, like half the bottle to be precise. I've never liked a man who smells too much of unnatural scents. I like Gale's leather and pine smell, I like Peeta's cinnamon and dill smell, I even admit to finding Finnick Odair's natural musk somewhat appealing on those rare occasions when he's not wearing cologne but thick artificial smells give me a bit of a headache.

"Mrs. Mellark!" greets Ajax with a pearly white grin. He's twenty-two years old and eleven years my junior. Right now I feel like an old lady talking to a teenager. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"I'm just stretching my legs" I claim. I came looking for company but a cocky former career and two morphlings were not what I had in mind.

"Why don't you  _rest_  your legs?" he suggests. "Come sit down with me." He places a hand on the small of my back and pretends not to notice that I pull away. "Your husband let you out on your own, did he?"

"He misplaced the key to my chains, I found it, I escaped" I reply dryly.

Ajax laughs, which just further establishes my opinion of him as a pig. I decide to ignore him and turn to go back to the elevators but his hand on my arm stops me. I shrug him off but he doesn't seem to be bothered.

"Leaving so soon?"

"My legs are stretched." On a strange kind of impulse I usually only get while drunk I lean in closer to him and lower my voice. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. After I escaped I chained  _Peeta_. To the bed. He's probably tired of waiting for me by now."

I turn and walk back inside the elevator, banging my hand against the 12 button. The look on Ajax' face ought to be entertaining but I can't bother to care. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to feel in control while among these people, for once.

I ride the elevator back up and retreat to our bedroom, figuring I might as well take my refuge there. The rest of the day goes by at a snail's pace, with nothing for me to do but to think about my nephew and how he must be feeling right now. Not to mention my husband and what  _he_  must be feeling right now. I still don't know what he meant before – about Tommy not telling him anything he didn't already know. Tommy got almost everything wrong and was only speaking in anger. Maybe I should take off my clothes and wait for Peeta to return, showing him a good time before dinner and telling him I love him the only way I know how.

But if he's not in the mood, if he rejects me, I will only feel worse.

 

 

 

 

Early the next morning Peeta, Haymitch and I sit down in the conference room to discuss our tributes with head gamemaker Magnus Sheerwinkle. He has held this prestigious job for six years now and is known for including some form of twist each year, while his predecessors usually saved the twists for more special Games. One year Magnus placed all female tributes on one side of the cornucopia and all the male tributes on the other, separating the two groups with a small river. Another year he sent in mutts designed to look like the tributes' parents to chase them throughout the nights. Everybody says his greatest disappointment in life is not having to get to contribute ideas for the Quarter Quells and the knowledge that he very much enjoys throwing new twists and turns into the Games makes me nervous. The government sees this as his prime qualification for the job. The audience is always kept on their toes. So are us mentors, but not in the positive sense.

When the tributes are being made ready for the interviews the mentors have a twenty minute meeting with the head gamemaker to discuss the tributes. There might be some talent or quality the mentors have made sure to keep hidden until now, or some personal detail about a tribute which the head gamemaker might benefit from knowing about. This is, after all, entertainment for the masses first and foremost. It's a slaughter of children only second, apparently.

Normally with things related to the Games they start with District 1 and work their way down from there but these meetings have a reversal. Twelve gets to go first, probably so that the mentors from the finer districts get to sleep in. Most years the head gamemaker shows little to no interest in what we have to say about our puny, outer-district tributes but this year Magnus is very interested, leaning forward over the table with a keen expression on his face. He's obviously expecting a good show this year, even though they had to settle for the nephew of a pair of victors rather than a victor's child.

"So tell me" he says, flashing us a smile full of pearly white teeth. "What can I expect from the District 12 tributes this year? Has Thomas been trained in archery? Is he as skilled in camouflage as his uncle?"

"You are aware that Peeta and I didn't raise him, right?" I say dryly.

"That doesn't mean he hasn't been influenced" replies Magnus. "I want to know everything."

"Sally is the daughter of a coal miner who is also a hobby carpenter" I say, choosing to ignore that he only seems focused on Tommy. "Put a knife in her hands and she can get quite creative."

From the corner of my eye I see Peeta shooting me a look but I ignore it. I rattle off a few more tidbits about our female tribute before Magnus raises his hand to stop me.

"Katniss, Katniss, you don't have to say anything about her."

This immediately makes me suspicious.

"Why not?"

"Because they already have a storyline in mind for her" deduces Haymitch. "Either they plan on putting as little focus as they can on her and make Tommy the focal point or they're going to play her up as an unfortunate underdog fighting against even tougher odds because her district partner is the nephew of a pair of victors."

"Then they must also have something in mind for Tommy" I point out.

"Katniss, you and Peeta know him better than any other mentor knows their tributes this year" says Magnus. "Tell me, what secrets can you reveal about him?"

I cross my arms over my chest and refuse to meet Magnus' eyes. I can reveal all kinds of things the head gamemaker doesn't know about our nephew, or even thought about before. I can tell him how Tommy cried every time one of his milk teeth came out because he thought it was very painful. I can tell him how he prefers being barefoot in summer whether he's walking in the grass or on a dirt road or a pebbled path. I can tell him how Tommy used to crawl up on Peeta's lap when he was a kid, and just sit there quietly even though his siblings and cousins were running around playing together. I could tell him about the way Tommy expresses himself, how he hates fish but eats it without complaint, how he hates having to get out of bed early, how he always looks after his younger siblings, or a hundred other little things that make up the person he is. But gamemakers aren't interested in things like that. They're not interested in hearing about the person, they want to know about the tribute. What attributes does the tribute have that could offer interesting television? The rest is meaningless to Magnus and his colleagues. To them it doesn't matter what a tribute likes or dislikes or hopes for or dreams of, unless it's directly related to the Games. Twenty-three of them are going to be dead a month from now anyway so all those unique details about them are meaningless. At least to the gamemakers.

Peeta begins to tell Magnus about some of Tommy's skills and traits but he struggles with it. It's Haymitch who, after interrupting Peeta, gives the best description and tells Magnus what he's interested in hearing. It's clear to me in this moment that Peeta can't be objective and that it's difficult for him, and I know it would be the same for me. We want to say the perfect things to make the gamemakers feel that Tommy is interesting and worth keeping around for a while but we're too close to him to be able to see what someone who doesn't know him would find interesting about him.

After the meeting is over I give Haymitch a look, trying to signal that I want to be alone with Peeta for a moment. He harks, excuses himself and heads to the common room to see if he can find any other mentors to socialize with. I put my hand on Peeta's arm and suggest that we go up to the roof to enjoy the sun a bit.

"No" says Peeta. "We should be in the penthouse. I want to be there for Tommy if he needs anything."

"Tommy is with Junia and the rest of his prep team" I point out. "If he's even out of bed yet. You need to get away for a moment."

"There's no 'getting away' in this place" snorts Peeta. "What's the roof? Just one more prison, albeit with nicer plants."

"Well what are you going to do up in our rooms?" I retort. "Sit around and count the hours until Tommy goes up on stage?"

"Look, I can't concentrate on anything else!" he says sharply. "I don't know how you can be so blasé all of a sudden but in about twenty-four hours he is going to be standing on the platform waiting for the gong to sound and the Games to begin."

"I know" I say. "And there is nothing you or I can do to stop that from happening. You need to unwind for a bit right now so that you can be at your best tomorrow. He needs that from you."

He gives me a strange look.

"You know, I wish I could call Ryean and talk to him for a while." He pauses. "We'd better not tell him and Maggie, or anyone else in the family for that matter, that you're mentoring Sally."

Where did that come from? I'm feeling more and more like I'm treading on thin ice with Peeta but I don't know what I did to end up here. He was on my side in this, or so I believed, until Tommy had his freak-out. How can the things Tommy said that day make such a big difference? This behavior isn't like Peeta at all and it's throwing me for a loop. I thought I knew all there was to know about him, including all his various moods, but this is a side of him I'm not familiar with.

"Okay" I say, wanting to avoid the fight I can feel brewing beneath the surface. "But since you can't call Ryean, why not come with me to the rooftop?"

"I think I'll have a drink instead."

"It's not even nine o'clock in the morning" I point out with a frown.

"Exactly. I will be good and sober by the time I need to be."

"Peeta" I say with a frown. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being  _ridiculous_ " he scoffs. "I need something suitably strong to take my mind off everything and trust me, the rooftop garden is nowhere near strong enough,"

He walks past me and heads for the common room to find the bar. I remain standing in the same spot for a few minutes, rubbing my arms slowly, feeling alone and confused. What is happening with Peeta and me?

 

 

 

We don't say a word to one another as we stand backstage and watch this year's tributes have their interview time with Caesar Flickerman. The man has got to be pushing seventy, if not eighty, and even the plastic surgery can't do enough to hide that fact. This year his hair is midnight black with a snowy white stripe that runs like a Mohawk, creating a ridiculous skunk-like look. Well, at least it isn't neon yellow as it was three years ago. That year it literally hurt the eyes to look at it.

Peeta and I both have our arms crossed over our chests as we stare at the large TV-screen in front of us. Haymitch is out in the audience together with the stylists but Peeta and I always keep away from the cameras so that they don't focus on us instead of on our tributes. A handful of other mentors are here with us but most of them are out there in the crowd, cheering for their tributes like it's some sort of sporting event.

Sally is on stage, sitting next to Caesar, looking lovely in a gown that is yellow at the top and then shifts to orange, pink, purple, blue and finally black in a way that resembles the light in the sky from the time the sun begins to set to when it's night. The hem of her dress has tiny jewels sewed on to the fabric, resembling stars. I'm not sure why her stylist chose this look for her but it is memorable and makes her stand out. She handles herself well in answering Caesar's questions and at one point I see her smiling, the first genuine smile I have ever seen from her. It's a good performance and any other year I would be thrilled.

"She did well" says Peeta. I look at him and he's actually giving me a small smile. "Nice coaching job."

"Thanks" I manage to mumble, a little taken aback by this reappearance of the Peeta I know and love.

"You know, for the record…" he says, turning his eyes back to the screen. "I don't wish death upon her. I have nothing against her. If it can't be Tommy then…" He draws a quick breath, bites the insides of his cheeks and turns his face away.

"Yeah…" I say, knowing what he means.

Both of us turn our attention to the screen. Tommy's name has just been called and he walks out on stage smiling shyly. I close my eyes hard for a second and hold back a groan. His stylist has put him in an outfit that strongly resembles the one Peeta wore for his interview so many years ago. Tommy is by no means the spitting image of his uncle, favoring his mother more than his father, but his smile is the same one Peeta and his brothers have. Seeing him up on that stage with Caesar brings back so many painful memories and I have to force myself to not look away.

The interview starts off fine. Tommy and Caesar banter playfully, kind of like Peeta and Caesar did, and I get the strong impression that Haymitch told Tommy to imitate his uncle as much as possible. Peeta has always been a popular victor, not on par with Finnick Odair or Silver Summers who won the 90th Games last year and quickly became the Capitol's new favorite play thing, but always making it to the semi-annual "Top Ten Favorite Victors" list. My name never appears on that list, though whether it's because people don't like me anymore or because President Snow has ordered that my name is kept off the list I don't know. Tommy has some of the charm and charisma that Peeta has but he's never been as easygoing as his uncle and to me, who've known him since his birth, the banter feels a bit forced. I doubt anybody in the audience picks up on it.

Then the inevitable questions about his relation to Peeta and me come flying out of Caesar's mouth and I find myself staring at the clock on the wall, wishing Tommy's allotted time would end already. Tommy does his best to try and convince the audience that he wants to be judged on his own merits and that being our nephew is irrelevant to his participation in the Games but nobody is fooled. I wish I knew if they mean to make the audience root for him or if they plan to use him as a pawn to take away some of the shine that's still on us, the star-crossed lovers of District 12.

Once the interview is finally over Peeta and I head silently for the elevators, hoping to reach the penthouse before Sally and Tommy do so that we can be there to greet them when they arrive. Peeta looks somber and doesn't meet my eyes when we step on the elevator. He's probably wondering the same thing as I am, and worrying what the implications of the latter possibility will mean for his brother. If Tommy ends up targeted by the gamemakers for no other reason than to screw with Peeta and I it is going to be very difficult to face the family when we go home to Twelve, even if he does win.

We reach our penthouse and Peeta steps off the elevator with a heavy sigh. I follow him and take a seat on a velvet-cushioned bench while we wait for the tributes to arrive. Peeta paces back and forth and I fight the urge to tell him to cut it out because he's making me nervous. When the elevator dings I fly to my feet and Peeta stops beside me, both of us facing the elevator doors.

Tommy and Sally step out of the car and it takes only one look at them to know that something has happened. They have both angled their faces away from the other but take turns shooting glares at one another. No doubt they were fighting in the elevator which I find both tiresome and immature. They need to save their energy for more important things than lashing out at each other.

"I was going to say something about how you both did a good job up on stage," I say with a scowl, "but looking at you right now I've suddenly lost that urge. Go to bed, both of you. Save your energy for tomorrow."

Sally huffs and stomps off towards her bedroom. She accidentally steps on the hem of her dress and nearly falls over but manages to regain her balance at the last second. Growling with frustration she hikes her skirt up and stomps away with so much force that it's a small miracle that her heels leave no mark on the hardwood floor. Tommy waits until we hear her door slam and then he sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Yeah, I know, don't say it" he says before Peeta or I get a chance to speak. "I was hoping to carry myself through all this with a bit of dignity and pride but I haven't been doing a good job of it earlier this week so why should tonight be any different?" He rolls his eyes. "I'm going to bed. Any advice on how to get some actual sleep this night?"

An uncomfortable silence follows. I don't even remember whether or not I slept at all that night before I went into the arena. I've had some tributes who have seemed to sleep like babies their last night in the penthouse but I'm pretty sure the vast majority find it difficult to go to sleep. Peeta doesn't seem to be able to think of any advice either and for once doesn't meet his nephew's eyes.

"Okay then" says Tommy. "Good night."

He walks off to his bedroom. Peeta sighs and takes his jacket off, tossing it over one shoulder. He strolls into the sitting room and makes for the bar, which worries me for a second until I see that he's getting soda water. I stand in the doorway watching him in silence, wishing I knew what to say to make him feel better. I feel pretty terrible myself but seeing him this troubled makes my own distress seem less important.

The elevator dings again and Haymitch and Emalda come walking out, doing an impressive job of pretending the other doesn't exist. Emalda heads to her room without a word while Haymitch walks past me and goes to join Peeta by the bar. He leans over the countertop and scoops up three large ice cubes, tossing them into a glass which he then fills with water.

"They did well" he says. "Both of them."

"Yeah" I say, walking slowly over to join them. "Not counting the fight they clearly had in the elevator afterward."

Haymitch throws his head back and laughs.

"Oh that did not start in the elevator, sweetheart" he tells me. "No, they were going at it about five seconds after they came backstage."

"Perfect" I mutter, taking a seat on one of the barstools.

Haymitch continues to laugh as he gives us some of the highlights of the fight, which apparently consisted mostly of Sally accusing Tommy of being a pale imitation of his uncle while Tommy accused her of using his relation to us as an excuse for everything. I get more and more annoyed the more I hear, even though I realize that it's understandable that a pair of tributes lash out at each other since they can't lash out at the Capitol or the Hunger Games or any of the people involved with them. It's not even uncommon for something like this to happen. It's just never happened between any of our tributes, not in public. Peeta clenches his jaw and looks away, offering no comment to what Haymitch is telling us.

"Oh don't look so put-off, you two" smirks Haymitch. "It's good that they have some aggression in them. It will come in handy tomorrow."

Peeta slams his glass on the counter, water splashing over the rim of the glass, and walks off in the direction of our bedroom. Haymitch has stopped laughing now and I turn to him, leaning my elbows on the countertop.

"I'm worried about him, Haymitch."

"He'll be fine, sweetheart" Haymitch replies but I can hear a tone of doubt in his voice and that unsettles me more than anything in Peeta's behavior.

"You mean, he'll be fine if Tommy is crowned the victor of the 91st Hunger Games." I reach out my hand and place it on Haymitch's arm. "Even then… are you really that sure Peeta will be fine?"

"You tell me" says Haymitch, giving me a somber look. "You're his wife."

I can't give him an answer. All I feel I know for certain is that my husband is scared and apprehensive and dealing with a lot of guilt and self-blame. Beneath all of that, I fear he's dealing with something else, too. Something that has to do with me.

 

 

 

Neither one of us sleeps very much that night. We lie there next to each other, at least a foot of distance between us, never speaking a word to each other. Peeta just lays there staring at the ceiling while I toss and turn for hours on end. When I finally drift off to sleep it feels like I barely closed my eyes before the alarm clock starts to make its hellish noise. Peeta grunts something unintelligible and reaches out his hand to smack the clock into silence. He then gets out of bed and offers me to shower first but I tell him he should go ahead. Usually on the morning of the Games we shower together, holding one another close while we try to draw as much strength from the other as we can before going out to the breakfast table to face our tributes one last time. Today I decide to skip the shower and I drag myself out of bed to get dressed.

At the breakfast table Sally is looking a little wide-eyed while Tommy looks dismal but composed. They both manage to finish what's on their plates while I only pick at my food and Peeta never even picks up his cutlery. Haymitch sits at the head of the table with an enormous cup of coffee in his hands and doesn't attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. No matter how many times we do this there's no getting used to it.

When the meal is over and it's time for the tributes to depart we all rise from our seats as if on cue and make our way to the elevators. Sally and I will be going down first. The elevator ride and the short walk to the dressing rooms where we've been leaving our tributes since the 86th Games is our last chance to give them advice and boost their morale. It's the part I hate the most about mentoring. I can never, ever forget the dread I felt when I was a tribute myself and seeing that dread reflected in the eyes of a young girl always reminds me that I can't escape my bad memories or my night terrors.

I look over at Tommy while we wait for the elevator car to reach our floor. He's standing in-between Haymitch and Peeta and looks a touch pale but still composed. For the first time in days he looks at me without anger or betrayal written on his face. We both know this might be the last time we ever see each other. I step up to him and meet his eyes, racking my brain for the right thing to say to help him feel brave.

"I'm sorry" he says, so low I'm not entirely sure I heard him right.

I pull him in for a hug, willing my eyes not to fill with tears.

"Hush" I say in his ear. "You'll get through this."

"I just… hate that I feel like it's already begun to change me" he whispers in my ear and I have to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat.

The elevator dings and I know I have to let him go. I give his cheek a reassuring caress and then I walk inside the elevator car where Sally is already waiting.

The last thing I hear before the doors close is Tommy's voice calling me Aunt Niss.

We ride down the elevator in silence. I should be talking to Sally. I should be giving her last minute advice and reassuring her that she stands a chance at winning this. I know she needs me to tell her that she's not going to die today. I just don't trust my voice not to break if I try speaking.

We reach the underground floor where the dressing rooms are located and I draw a deep breath, finding some composure, forcing Tommy from my mind. I know he's in the best possible hands right now. My focus needs to be on his district partner.

"Listen, the first thing you need to do when you step off your platform is find water" I say as we begin to walk down the poorly lit concrete tunnel. "Just make sure you don't step off the platform early. Find water. Find shelter. Don't worry about weapons at first, okay? It's better to have water and shelter and no weapon in the early stages of the game than to have weapons but not water and shelter."

"Katniss…" says Sally, a soft tone in her voice I haven't heard until now. "Do you… Do you think I honestly stand a chance?"

I stop walking and she stops too, looking up at me with the eyes of a frightened fourteen year-old girl. It seems that finally she's let her guard down and beneath that cocky, sullen exterior is a terrified teenager who knows her life might be over in less than two hours. For the first time I feel genuinely protective of her and I want to acknowledge to her how unfair her lot in life is. But I know that it's more important to make her feel empowered and determined so I nod my head and reach out my hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. The affection in the simple gesture seems to get to her, as I can see her start to tremble even in the dim lighting.

"You have some tough competitors" I say. "Just remember that it's not all about physical strength. A clever mind oftentimes takes you further, provided you survive the cornucopia bloodbath. Which is why you should avoid the cornucopia at all costs today."

"There are so many things I…" she begins, averting her eyes. "There's this boy, in my class. Olive skin, dark hair, grey eyes, just like every other kid from the Seam. Still he's different somehow, you know?" She swallows hard. "I've had a thing for him for months but I never said anything. Now I wish I had said something. I wish I had snuck past the fences out into the woods at least once in my life. I wish I had spent more time with my little brother. I wish…"

"I know" I say with a nod. "Don't think about it, okay? Not right now. Think about it when you're in the arena and the first commotion has settled. Then it can be your best motivation for getting back home. But right now I need you to focus on  _you_  and your basic needs for survival." I place my hand at the small of her back and usher her on. "Come on."

We continue our walk to the dressing room but neither of us speaks. I don't know what advice I should give her, even though I've done this so many times. All I can manage to do is grit my teeth and prepare to face whatever the day will have to offer.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

It's easier now. It's not as it ought to be but it's less awkward. In the first weeks after the Games I feel like both Peeta and I are grieving and we seek comfort in each other's presence, even if it's often just sitting beside one another on the couch watching bad television. There's still a strange distance between us and I have days when our situation makes me feel like a caged animal and I flee the house and keep my distance from him. He never says anything about it and in a way that's the most difficult part of all. That he's not reaching out. It's funny how we can be talking comfortably to each other one day and then the next we barely see one another. I think we just had too little time to prepare to be cohabitating and now neither one of us is sure how to act, or what we even are to one another.

Night time is the worst time. I lay there in the darkness beside Peeta, wanting so badly to be wrapped in his comforting arms as I fall asleep, but he makes use of the size of the bed which is enough to keep at least two feet of space between us. Sometimes, if I've had a particularly bad nightmare and wake up screaming, he will hold me and comfort me and be almost like the Peeta I miss so much. Almost. There's still a bit of distance there. What annoys me the most is that I have a strong suspicion that he keeps this physical space between us because it's too difficult for him to be physically close without getting to do anything more intimate than cuddle, when what I want for him to do is act on whatever urges he has and take our relationship to that next level before President Snow does something bad to us.

I miss Gale. I hardly see him at all because of his difficult work schedule. He hasn't been to the woods at all since I returned home from the Games but I still go out there every Sunday morning hoping to see him.

One such morning I give up on hunting when I know he's not going to show. We have enough food to keep our bellies full anyway – hunting is mostly a way for me to pass the time. I head home and walk through the door just in time to see Peeta putting his jacket on.

"Heading out?" I ask.

"Yeah. Going to see my family. Done hunting already?"

"Didn't really feel like it" I shrug. A sudden idea comes to mind. "Why don't I walk into town with you? I haven't been by Hazelle and the kids since we got back."

I don't know why I don't tell him that it's Gale I'm longing to see. He's no idiot and no doubt sees right through my little lie. If it bothers him he doesn't let it show.

"Okay" he shrugs. "Sure. I don't mind a bit of company."

 

 

 

We walk together towards town, neither one of us talking much. We part ways by the main square and agree to meet up again in three hours. Peeta walks off in the direction of the bakery and I steer my steps towards the Seam.

I have the hint of a smile on my face when I knock on Gale's door. I long to see him, to talk to him about what's been happening in my life, to hear him fill me in on what's happening in his. I long for some resemblance of what life used to be. But when Hazelle opens the door and looks surprised and a little displeased at the sight of me the smile fades.

"Katniss…" she says. "What brings you by?"

I get the feeling that my presence here doesn't feel as natural to her anymore as it used to. I decide to shrug it off and tell myself that there must be something else going on, like one of the kids being sick or her day just being really busy. Nothing has changed between her and me so why shouldn't I be welcome here like I used to be?

"I came to say hi, catch up" I say. "Actually, I mostly came to see Gale. He hasn't been to the woods in weeks."

Hazelle looks over her shoulder and seems to hesitate before she opens the door fully and steps aside to let me in.

"Come on inside" she says. "Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks."

I follow her to the kitchen in their small home. Even though it's cramped with five people under this roof I still find it more homely than the houses in the Victor's Village. Inside the kitchen the whole family has gathered, all of them falling silent when I walk inside, except for Posy who is so engrossed in her play that she doesn't seem to notice. Gale seems to be helping Rory with his homework and Vick is doing dishes. It seems so comfortable and relaxed and so much like something I would want to have for myself. But things were never like this in my house, not after my father died.

"Katniss…" says Gale, sounding surprised.

"Hello stranger" I say, determined to play it cool. I walk over and run my hand through Rory's hair before stopping beside Gale. "I thought I'd stop by and make sure you haven't forgotten that Sundays means you don't have to be in the mines."

There's a brief moment of silence and a strange tension in the room. Then Gale slowly stands up and looks at me intently.

"Miss me, Catnip?"

I do. I've missed him terribly. Feeling a strange lump in my throat I don't answer him verbally, instead I pull him close and hug him tight. I feel him wrap his arms around me in return and almost as if on a given signal the rest of his family continue on with whatever they were doing, talking comfortably amongst themselves.

I pull back from the hug and feel happy to see the smile on his face. He brushes a strand of hair from my face and gives my braid a light tug, which makes me think of Peeta and how he hasn't played with my hair since we got back from the Capitol.

"Why haven't you been out to the woods?" I ask.

Gale puts a hand on the small of my back and leads me out the door and onto the small deck on the backside of the house where we can talk in somewhat privacy. It's fairly chilly in the shade given the time of year but we stay on the deck rather than walk out into the sunlight, as if the bright light would mean it's no longer a private conversation. Not until the door is closed behind us and we can feel somewhat alone does he answer me.

"I… I was about to tell you that I've been busy" he says. "I don't know why."

"Well what is it then?" I ask. "Hazelle and the kids must be getting hungry. I didn't shoot anything today but I can bring you something from-"

"No" he says, holding up both hands to stop me. "No. Katniss I don't want your charity, even though you mean well."

"It's not charity" I object. "It's the deal we made. If you had won the Games you would have helped feed my family." He makes a face. "You  _did_  let me help feed them when I first got back."

"Yeah I know but…" He looks very uncomfortable, struggling to find his words. "Now it's not just you anymore, you know? Not just your money, your winnings. It's  _his_  as well. I can't take charity from him."

"Peeta?" I say with incredulity. "You think  _he_  helps out hunting? The best way he can help out is by staying far, far away from the woods. You saw the Games, the guy can't walk quietly when his life literally depends on it."

To my surprise Gale chuckles.

"True… What I meant is that I would feel wrong taking anything from your household with him."

"I don't want to talk about my household with him" I say grumpily, wrapping my arms around myself. "I came here to talk to  _you_. You really should come back out to the woods, Gale. I'm nowhere near as good at hunting when you're not there."

He smiles at me, looking almost bashful. His hand finds the old wooden beam that helps support the rickety roof above us.

"Maybe I've been acting foolish" he says. "I just… thought it might be better to keep my distance. I didn't see all that much of you during the Games this year but what I did see was…" He trails off. "Never mind."

"No, what?"

"They seem awfully eager to hear you announce that you're going to have a baby."

"Oh for heaven's sake!" I groan. "Not you too, Gale!"

"Oh definitely not me" he says with a passion. "I  _dread_  the day you'll make that announcement."

I relax a little, feeling like I've finally found someone who shares my views on the subject. I know that Peeta and my family and Haymitch do but outside of that circle everyone seems to think we are obligated to produce children really soon. Gale understanding how I feel about it makes me very relieved.

I walk up to him and wrap my arms around him again, feeling him embrace me in return. We stand like that for a long while, silently holding each other. At least in this moment I feel like I have somebody with me. Somebody who won't pull away like Peeta has been doing since the wedding.

 

 

 

We walk slowly into town, talking as we go. Gale seems a little bit more at ease now which makes me lighter at heart. When we reach the merchant district I follow him inside the seamstress' shop and help him find the best thread for Hazelle to use to mend Vick's clothes. He lets me pay for it, after I insist that he owes me that much for not allowing me to live up to my end of our bargain lately. By the time we leave the shop we're in quite good spirits and I find myself almost feeling good enough to smile. Before we step out on the streets again I take a glance at the clock inside the store, noting that I have about five minutes which makes the timing rather good.

"So" says Gale. "What do you say I walk with you back to the Village?"

"Oh" I say. "That's alright. I'm meeting up with Peeta in five minutes."

Gale's face visibly falls. He sticks his hands in his back pockets and looks away.

"You're telling me he's walking in to town just to walk you back?"

"What?" I almost chuckle at the idea. "No, he's been at the bakery. We're meeting up at noon."

"I see."

I don't understand why his mood suddenly turned so sour. Is the mere mentioning of my husband's name enough to make him grumpy? If so then it's going to be a long lifetime ahead. Some part of me foolishly believed, or at least fervently wanted to hope, that once Peeta and I were married things would go back to normal with Gale. I hate hurting him but he understands why the wedding took place. Now that I am married there can be no further choices to be made. I will be with Peeta and Gale and I will remain platonic friends. I've been quite relieved to have the decision taken out of my hands, to be honest. Now I see that it's not going to be all that easy.

"Gale…" I say. "What do you expect me to do? Avoid being seen with him in public? We pretty much need to do the opposite of that."

Gale's features soften as quickly as they turned sullen.

"Of course. You're right Katniss. I don't know what I was thinking." He smiles and gives my arm a light squeeze. "Go ahead. I'll see you later. Next Sunday, on our usual spot?"

"I look forward to it" I say.

He flashes me another smile and I give him a small wave as I walk towards the town square. It's only about fifty yards away and I can feel Gale's eyes on me as I walk. I wonder what his reaction just now was really all about. Then I decide to shrug it off. What does it matter? Nothing can change the way things will be from here on out. Peeta and I are married and Gale will forever be my best friend.

I've only just reached the square when I spot Peeta coming from the direction of the bakery. I smile slightly, not failing to notice the paper bag he's carrying in his left hand. I wonder what his father sent for us. Peeta does a lot of baking but his father has some specialties that Peeta hasn't mastered yet. I'm hoping for cream-filled donuts, which I've only ever had once and which they only make on special request.

"Hey you" says Peeta, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek in the interest of public displays of affection.

"Hey yourself" I say, taking his hand in mine. "Ready to head home?"

"Yeah. When we get home I've got some news."

"Good news?"

He grins widely.

"Really good news."

We begin to walk in the direction of the Victor's Village. I turn my head and spot Gale. He's on his way to the Hob, watching me as I leave. The look on his face is sullen again and it makes no sense to me. What on earth did I do this time?

"What's in the bag?" I ask Peeta, hoping to distract myself.

"Danishes" answers Peeta. "The kind with a dab of raspberry jam. We had some raspberry left over from the wedding and this morning we decided to put it to good use."

"Sounds lovely" I smile.

We walk home in comfortable silence, hand in hand even when we've walked far enough that no one in town can see us anymore. It's a lovely summer's day and I'm beginning to forget about Gale and his strange moods. Part of it is due to Peeta being in such high spirits. Maybe we can grab a blanket and go sit out on the lawn and have the pastries there together with some lemonade. I've always been a fan of eating outdoors, though Peeta doesn't like it nearly as much as I do.

Once we are home Peeta goes to the kitchen and sets out a large glass plate given to us as a wedding present – one of the ones we got to actually keep. Most of our gifts were kept in the Capitol, some even put in a museum. He puts the pastries on the plate and licks the tips of his fingers.

"Ryean and Maggie were there" he tells me.

"How are the newlyweds?" I ask, regurgitating the question we've been asked about a million times. I reach for a pastry but he gives me a light slap on the fingers.

"Patience" he says. "Let me get some ice-water first."

"Don't take all day about it."

He chuckles and walks over to the freezer to produce some ice from one of the fancy containers that came with the house. He puts ice-chips in a large pitcher while he talks and then fills it up with water.

"To answer your question, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark are doing quite excellent. In fact, they had some news to share."

"Oh?" I'm barely paying attention, trying to figure out if I can break off a small piece from a danish without Peeta noticing.

"Yup. Their first child is due to arrive in mid-March."

I look up, eyes wide with surprise. Peeta looks very pleased as he walks over with the pitcher and sets it down on the table. The pastries are momentarily forgotten on my part, this news coming like a shock to me even though it makes perfect sense. They got married in late April, it is now September. A baby on the way is the most natural thing.

"So you're going to be an uncle" I conclude.

"Indeed I am." His smile grows a bit wider. "It's going to be great. They're both very excited. Even Mother is in great spirits."

"She actually  _wants_  grandchildren?" I blurt out, causing Peeta's smile to briefly turn into a frown. Quickly I try to smooth things over. "I mean… Ryean and Maggie are both so young. That's all. My mother seems terrified of the idea of becoming a grandmother before I'm twenty-five."

"My mother has no such qualms" assures Peeta. He sets out two glasses and then takes a seat. "So we made the danishes kind of as a means of celebration. I promised Maggie I would make her a cake when the baby has been born. I know it's different in the Seam but in town the birth of your first child is one of the few occasions when people splurge and buy cake. I'm thinking I can use blueberries if it's a boy and raspberries if it's a girl."

That idea sounds incredibly tacky to my ears but knowing what little I know about Ryean's wife she will love it.

"Sure" I say, sitting down opposite Peeta. "Why not?" He pushes the plate towards me and I pick one of the pastries, smiling at his obvious excitement. I hold up the danish as if to give a toast. "Well, to Uncle Peeta, I guess!"

He grins a little wider. I can't imagine him as an uncle at this age but this is the first thing that has put a genuine smile on his face in months. I'll definitely take it.

 

 

 

September turns into October. Autumn comes on fast and it's not even November when the snow begins to fall. Every Sunday I go out into the woods and meet up with Gale. I make sure we head for the Hob around eleven and a little after twelve I part ways with my best friend and meet up with my husband to head back home again. With every week it seems Gale grows more frustrated and I don't understand why. We usually have a good time when we're out in the woods but he barely talks once we've reached town and barely even says goodbye to me when I go to meet up with Peeta.

Finally I decide to ask him about it. It's a cold but rather lovely morning with freshly fallen snow covering the ground. No game has passed us by and the sun has risen, making the ground glisten and sparkle. There's such beauty in this season. If it didn't bring starvation and freezing I would probably like winter the best.

In the quiet morning I ask Gale to talk to me and tell me what is bothering him. Whatever it is I would rather know so we can deal with it. It's enough that Peeta and I still haven't figured out how to behave around one another even after more than six months of awkward marriage. I can't have my relationship with Gale being as complicated.

"I'm trying to come to terms with it" says Gale, giving a ball of icy snow a kick with the toe of his boot. "I know you didn't choose it. That helps. At the same time it makes it worse, you know?"

No, I'm not sure that I do. He lost me somewhere around coming to terms with it. What does  _he_  have to come to terms with? Nothing has really changed since we returned from the Capitol, except my address – again.

"It's fine" I mutter, wishing we could spend this precious time in the woods talking about something else. I came out here to escape my caged life for a few hours, not to sit around and talk about it with Gale.

"It's not" says Gale. "Nothing about this is  _fine_." He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, so similar in colour and texture to my own. "Isn't it ironic how everyone thinks winning the Games gives you  _freedom_? You've had none of that since you came back to the district. You've even been forced to marry someone you didn't choose. Denied the chance to pick your own partner."

If I had the chance to choose I wouldn't have picked a partner at all. Gale ought to know this, I've talked to him about it in the past, but I don't bother to correct him. Perhaps if I let him rant for a while he can get whatever is bothering him off his chest and we can go hunting and things can be normal.

"All that matters is that my family is safe" I tell him.

He looks at me in a strange way. There is a kind of tenderness there that I'm not used to seeing. His fingers reach out and brush a strand of hair away from my face, gently tucking it behind my ear.

"I know. It's so  _you_  to think that way, putting your loved ones' safety above everything else" he says. "I should take a page from your book. I can't let myself think too much about the life we could have had if things had been different. If I do I will go crazy. As it is, just knowing that you love me is enough to carry me through."

Suddenly I feel uncomfortable. I wrap my arms around myself and shift my weight from one foot to the other. I don't recall ever telling Gale that I love him the way I suspect he means. I did once tell him that if things were different then maybe, possibly, but all I was trying to say was that I can't afford to even think about romantic love right now.

I feel like I should set him straight but I don't know how to go about it.

"You're my best friend" I tell him. "Of course I love you."

There's an awkward pause.

"Do you suppose…" He leans in and whispers in my ear, so close that his lips brush against me and his breath tickles me. "Can they be watching us right now? Listening to our conversation?"

"I don't think so" I answer.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine in a gesture that feels far too intimate. Strange, because it's never felt that way with Peeta.

"I'm not talking about your love for me as your best friend" he says softly, tenderly. "As long as I know I have your heart I can have that to hold on to and I can live on that knowledge."

I haven't got the first idea what to say to that. I don't know if Gale has my heart or not. I've never thought much about it. I can't pledge my heart to somebody. Besides, if anybody should have my heart now it's Peeta. My husband.

I take so long to reply that Gale moves away a bit and looks at me with an eyebrow slightly raised and his head tilted.

"Katniss? I do have your heart. Don't I?"

"What does it even matter?" I ask, hoping to distract him. "I am Peeta's now and Peeta is mine. That's the way it has to be. For all our sakes."

"It matters a great deal" says Gale. There's a trace of hurt in his tone that makes me feel guilty. "They can force you to marry him but they can't force you to love him. If it hadn't been for the Hunger Games you would have ended up with me, or at least I would have stood an honest chance. Is it so difficult for you to understand that knowing that you love me helps me? That it means they couldn't take everything from me?"

I frown and take a small step back. Who said I would have ended up with him if I hadn't been in the Games with Peeta? I wasn't planning on being with Gale when I went to the reaping for the 74th Games and I wasn't planning on it when we got back home either. Why is Gale talking as if I owe him something? And what did they ever really take from  _him_? They've taken from me and from Peeta but Gale is barely a parenthesis to them.

"I thought I made it clear to you before the Reaping that I never intended to get married and have children" I say. "The only thing that's different now is that I had to marry Peeta to preserve the peace. If I could have chosen freely I would have stayed alone."

"Oh is that how it is?" Gale is angry now but I don't see why he has the right to be. "Katniss come on, do you really believe you bought peace by allowing that guy to put a ring on your finger? Just how important do you flatter yourself into thinking that you are? Snow is trying to punish and control you by arranging a marriage for you but that is all it is."

"You think I could have made a different choice?" I challenge.

"I think he probably would have had me or your family or maybe even Peeta's family killed if you'd refused. I just don't think Panem would have ended up in another war if you hadn't gotten married. Snow probably gets off on knowing he can control your life to such a degree that he makes you marry someone you don't want to be with."

"It wasn't Snow who suggested that we get married" I snarl. "The suggestion came from  _me_."

Gale looks at me with disbelief, though I'm sure I've told him this at some point in the past.

"Katniss…" Then he snorts and shakes his head. "Maybe I'm just a blind idiot. Maybe I'm wrong in thinking you don't want to be married to Peeta. If you suggested it… Maybe you even  _like_  being his mattress every night."

I slap him. Hard. A fiery red mark spreads across his cheek but the look on his face remains icy cold.

"Don't you  _ever_  speak of Peeta that way" I growl. "I suggested marriage because every year when the Games and the Tour roll around we're going to have to pretend to be in love and be happy. It would seem strange if the star-crossed lovers never took that step. Why postpone the inevitable when we can take initiative? That doesn't mean Peeta necessarily has my heart but it most certainly doesn't mean that you do either." I pick up my game bag and toss it over my shoulder. "Excuse me but I'm not going to go hunting today after all. There's enough meat in our freezer to carry us through the next month." I walk past Gale, giving his shoulder a very ungentle nudge on the way, and head for the path that leads home. Just before I step into the woods again I turn around and glare at him. "For the record Peeta hasn't touched me. I offered my body to him and he declined."

I don't wait around for Gale's reaction to that piece of information. I make my way through the woods, my anger building with each step I take. Why does it have to be this way? Why does Gale have to have these feelings for me? I never asked for them, or expected them. We were best friends and hunting partners and I thought that was one of the few certainties in my life but now it seems I've lost that too. The way Gale spoke to me out there in the glade made me feel caged and he has always been my ticket to feeling free. In this moment I hate him a little bit for making me feel that way.

When I reach the Victors' Village Buttercup is flung up on the socle of a statue. He hisses at me as I pass him by and in my angered state I hiss right back at him. Stupid cat. His life is as convenient as any cat could want. What does he have to be hissing about?

I almost end up going to the wrong house, stopping myself right at the foot of the three steps that lead up to the front door of the house where my mother and sister live. The feeling of being trapped returns as I turn around and head for the house where I now live with Peeta. All I want is to take a hot bath and try to forget, if only for a moment, about the troubles in my life.

When I walk inside the house I at first think I'm alone. Peeta is probably in town, which is just as well because I don't want anybody's company right now. Peeta is probably the last person to blame for the fact that we've been forced together but all the same he is the constant reminder and right now a person I don't wish to see.

I walk through the kitchen and into the living room to grab a book to read in the bathtub. I'm still pretty much seething with anger and an hour soaking in hot water ought to do me good. Perhaps there are even some pastries in the freezer that I can take out and defrost. That might make me feel better.

"Home so soon?"

His voice scares me and I practically jump three feet in the air. When I turn around I see him sitting in an armchair with a book open on his lap, looking at me with a small smile. So he's home after all.

"Don't you ever leave the house?" I snarl irrationally. "It drives me crazy that you're  _always_  here!"

Peeta gives me a look. Slowly he sets his book down and then he gets up and walks out of the room. I try to hold back a sigh. Perfect. Now I've been rude and unfriendly to him, when it's Gale I'm mad at.

 

 

 

I sit out there for about half an hour, just looking straight ahead, trying to wrap my mind around everything that's happened over the last year. Fifteen months ago I was one of those people who thought that winning the Games meant a life of freedom and no more hunger. Now I know I would much rather be back in the Seam with things being the way they were, even though I never have to go to bed hungry nowadays. I never wanted to be a tribute in the first place but still in the back of my mind I somehow believed that if I beat the odds and won things would change for the better.

I think of Gale and how different everything is now. Is he right? Would I have ended up marrying him if I hadn't gone to the Games? I can't imagine that I would have. Still, it does make logical sense that if I were to marry someone at all it would be the guy who's been my closest companion for five years. Actually, four years. Since I first left the district my closest companion has been Peeta, for good and for bad.

Gale seems to take for granted that I have romantic feelings for him. When we got word that we would be leaving to get married several months ahead of schedule I took a long walk in the woods with Gale and in a way we said our goodbyes. Before we parted I gave him a peck on the lips, a farewell of sorts. I knew that from the moment I was married I wouldn't be able to spend as much time with Gale anymore. Official cousin or no, I can't be seen spending more time in public with him than with my husband.

Apparently he didn't see that kiss the way I meant for him to see it. To him it must have been an admission of feelings that I'm not sure I possess. I deeply regret that kiss now because it complicated things rather than brought about closure. I don't want Gale to go around thinking that perhaps he and I can be together someday. Somewhere down the line, when new fads have come about and the star-crossed lovers aren't so interesting anymore, it might be possible for Peeta and me to claim our young love has burned out and that we will divorce each other, still being the closest of friends of course but not a married couple anymore. At least that could be a possibility if we don't end up having children. Gale must have had that same thought as well but he can't hold out for that to happen. He needs to have a life for himself and not be lonely year in and year out, waiting for something that probably won't even happen. If it does happen I want to be alone. I don't want to leave the expectations of a happily ever after with Peeta behind me just to walk into Gale's expectation of a future for us together.

If I hadn't ended up in the Games with Peeta then perhaps I would have ended up with Gale. I strongly doubt it myself, since I would have chosen not to marry at all, but if I had had to marry then it would have probably been with him. What I can say for sure is that I would not have loved him the way my mother loved my father. That's just not the kind of thing that exists between us, or at least I didn't think so.

Sitting out there on the porch I think about my options and how life is going to be in the future. I think of Gale and I think of the way I treated Peeta when I got back home. If I can't have them both in my life then it's going to be Peeta over Gale. I know I could maintain a public façade of a happy marriage to Peeta yet secretly put my friendship with Gale first but that's not what I want. I want a happy home at the end of the day. I want Peeta to hold me at night. I want to sit with him at the breakfast table and eat his cheese buns. I want to be there for him and for him to be there for me, like those days in the arena and those nights on the train. I want to make it clear to him that I value the gift he gave me when he agreed to the suggestion that we should marry. I want him to know how much he matters. I want to show him the respect and courtesy that he deserves.

I rise to my feet. The choice has been made. Deep down I know it was already made a long time ago. I want Gale to be my friend, to be part of my family, but if a choice has to be made then I will focus on building the best possible relationship with Peeta.

Once I'm back inside the house I go looking for him. I eventually find him upstairs in the guest bedroom he's turned into a drawing room. With the money he won in the Games he's bought easels, expensive paint, canvases and a large assortment of painting utensils that are utterly meaningless to me. He's sitting on a stool in front of an easel, sketching an outline for something he's planning on painting. His brow is furrowed and he's deep in concentration. He doesn't look up until I say his name.

"I'm not going to avoid my own home, you know" he says, giving me only a fleeting glance. "There's plenty of space in this house anyway, if you need it."

"I'm sorry" I say. I take a few tentative steps inside the room. "Can I… Is it okay for me to be in here?"

"Well that's kind of the point." He sets the pencil down and looks at me. "We both live here now. It's okay for you to be anywhere you like in this house."

"I meant… Would you rather I leave?" He doesn't answer. I walk over and grab a stool, pull it up next to him and sit down. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing" he mutters, again focusing his eyes on the canvas in front of him. "We have this tree in our back yard. Well, my folks have this tree in their back yard. I'm trying to remember what it looks like in a summer rain. Painting things in rain is a lot harder than painting them in sunshine." He shrugs. "At least I think so."

"I'm sorry about before. It was rude of me. Unnecessary."

He picks up the pencil and draws a few more lines. He then sets the pencil back down and his frown deepens.

"You'd do well to remember, Mrs. Mellark, that the fact that I like you a hell of a lot more than you like me doesn't give you the right to treat me however you want" he says. He gives me a pointed look. "It's going to be a very long life if you can't behave like a decent human being."

Hearing him put it so bluntly hurts, especially because I know that it's true what he says. I'm probably the kind of person who just might take advantage of knowing that he cares more about me than vice versa. At the same time I want to protest. I definitely don't believe I am the only one to blame for our relationship being less than stellar. I don't know what I feel for Peeta but it's most certainly not indifference. I want to be closer to him, not further apart. He's right about something else though – we're going to have a very long life ahead of us if we can't get along.

"I'm sorry" I tell him again. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

"Maybe it's just as well that you do" he says, relenting but not looking pleased. "In a way it might be easier if you don't hide your true feelings from me. I want you to feel like you can be yourself."

"I didn't mean what I said" I assure him. "I'm  _glad_  you're here. I like your company." Perhaps I should leave it at that and not explain to him what happened earlier in the day to put me in such a sour mood but if we're going to have a life together then being open and honest is essential. "I had just gotten back from the woods."

"I know."

"I was with Gale."

"I figured."

"He…" For another second I hesitate. Can I betray Gale by telling Peeta all of this? If I have to choose who to be loyal to it ought to be Peeta. I already made that choice. "He wanted me to… to tell him, to  _promise_  him that… that he has my heart." I look away for a moment, finding it easier not to meet Peeta's eyes right now. "When I couldn't promise him that he got upset. It wasn't your fault. I was just so frustrated when I got back home. I'm tired of everyone telling me how I'm supposed to feel. I'm tired of people just assuming that they know my heart and mind better than I do and demand that I fall in line."

I meet his eyes and find that he looks friendly but very serious.

"Katniss none of that has ever come from me."

I open my mouth to protest but I stop myself, realizing that he's right. The whole country assumes that I love Peeta and expects me to want him but Peeta himself only acted that way in the arena, when I gave him ample reason to. Once he found out how things really were he was hurt and stayed away from me but not once did he act like he felt he deserved my love and affection. He went as far as marrying me without expecting for a second that I should love him back. Where Gale seems to feel I owe him my love Peeta has stated several times that he would prefer it if I didn't have to pretend and that when we're in private I don't have to behave like I care about him in ways that I don't.

"You're right" I say. "You're right. All the more reason why I'm sorry I took it out on you. It wasn't fair."

"No. It wasn't."

"Can you forgive me?"

There's a slight pause.

"If you promise that the next time you return home from the woods you'll have some actual game with you."

I can't stop myself from laughing a little and the tension is broken. Peeta smiles half-heartedly and I know that his feelings are still hurt but that he won't press the issue. I'm almost positive he's not hurt because of what happened today but because I can't love him back. He's never going to press me on that issue. Strangely enough the boy I've been forced to marry might be the only person who'll never demand that I care about him more than I do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part where Katniss gave Gale a kiss before leaving the district to get married is, as you might have guessed, a nod to the scene in the "Catching Fire" movie (you know the one). Personally I thought the scene in the movie was incredibly stupid but I borrowed the scenario nonetheless to give my take on what I choose to believe that scene was about.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update this time, but next chapter will be much longer.

We sit together on the couch, the four of us with bated breaths. Even Emalda, who usually tries her best to just zone out at this point, is watching the screen intensely. During the first fifteen minutes of the Games the screens are automatically tuned to the main feed and we have to wait a bit to be able to track our tributes specifically. Finally Claudius and Caesar announce that it is time and turn our attention to the screen behind them, which fades from black to a counter. This is the point where the tributes are raised to the surface and they, and us watching, get a first glimpse at the arena. Or at least it has been up until now. This year the screen remains black except for the counter and the four of us share a look, wondering if it's some technical difficulty or if they are about to reveal something out of the ordinary.

Then the screen slowly lights up as countless torches catch fire inside the arena. It takes a moment to register what we are looking at and I can see the tributes blinking, trying to adjust their eyes. This change in procedures seems to have left every single one of them momentarily confused as all twenty-four tributes turn their heads in every direction, trying to make sense of their surroundings.

At first I wonder if the arena is kept in darkness to give a more dramatic opening to the Games but my husband quickly brings me out of such ideas.

"It's all inside" he says quietly.

"What?" I ask, briefly taking my eyes off the screen to look at him.

"They're underground, or indoors. There's no natural illumination because the sun can't reach where they are."

He's right. As the clock counts down on the screen Caesar Flickerman informs us that this year the arena is set entirely indoors. There is no fresh air, only what the gamemakers send in through the ventilation systems. There are no rivers or lakes or other natural sources of water, nor are there any natural sources of food. The tributes must rely on help from sponsors, or find one of the thirty small stations containing food and water. Said stations are spread out all through the giant maze.

Giant maze. Or rather, underground labyrinth.

"Jesus…" whispers Peeta, leaning forward and covering his mouth with both hands as he stares at the screen.

We get only a brief glimpse at the layout of the labyrinth before the timer reaches zero. It's enough to see that the cornucopia is located at the very centre of the maze, in the only open-spaced area. Eighteen different passageways lead away from the cornucopia area and they in turn divide into a total of fifty different corridors, each with its own special touch. As the Games progress and the numbers start to dwindle different sections will be closed off, forcing the tributes together. The tributes, of course, know nothing of this. All they know is that they are in an enclosed space lit only by the torches along the walls. At the mouth of the cornucopia there are as much supplies of food and water as there are of weapons and any tribute with good sense in his or her head will go for those supplies first hand. No doubt the stations in the tunnels will be restocked as the games progress but there's still the matter of finding them to begin with. The question is how many tributes will figure out that they are locked inside a maze and how many will think this is only a small part of the arena and that there's open ground somewhere nearby.

My hand reaches out and grabs Peeta's, pulling it away from his face. He lets me take it and I can feel that it's cold and damp. My heart is beating a mile a minute and I don't think I've felt this anxious at the start of the games since my first year as a mentor, or actually since my own year as a tribute.

The counter reaches zero. I close my eyes for a second, praying that Tommy will ignore Peeta's recommendation to run and find shelter and instead take the chance at the cornucopia. He will need supplies. He won't be able to survive in this giant labyrinth without it.

When I open my eyes the carnage has already begun. The six members of the career pack have already reached the cornucopia and the girls go for the goods while the boys use their fists and raw strength to try and ward off any other tribute who comes too close until the girls can supply them with weapons. I almost can't breathe watching Tommy duck a swing from the boy from Four and grab a bag of supplies. He turns and finds himself face to face with the girl from One. She hisses at him and moves to lunge at him but he's faster, giving her a hard kick in the stomach before throwing himself down on the ground. Those of us who are watching the games unfold on television have a clear view of the action as the cameras have automatic filters that provide enough light. The tributes aren't as fortunate and I can't imagine how terrifying it must be to fight it out at the cornucopia while barely being able to see what is happening around you.

"Come on, come on, get out of there…" mumbles Haymitch.

Tommy worms his way past a couple of crates and gets his hands on a weapon. Without stopping to check what kind of weapon it is he jumps to his feet and darts around the corner of the cornucopia.

"Yes! That's it!" I hear myself exclaiming.

By going around the corner he's disappeared into shadows, the light from the torches not quite reaching this part of the room. He's not safe yet but he's a lot less likely to be targeted. His eyes quickly dart across the room and he chooses a passageway to run down and heads in that direction. Before he can reach it the girl from Eight beats him to it and he stops in his tracks. Going down that way means running the risk of encountering her and that in turn means having to be prepared to kill her or be killed by her.

"Don't stop" I encourage quietly. "Keep going."

Peeta hasn't said a word since the gong rang but I can see from the corner of my eye how focused he is. Every nerve in his body seems tense and it's as if I can feel his anxiety. Our nephew turns and heads for another passageway but doesn't make it five yards before running smack into the boy from Three, sending them both down on the ground. Three lets out a yelp when they make contact and somehow one of the careers, I think the girl from Four, overhears them over the scuffle. Both Tommy's and Three's eyes go to the cornucopia and I feel sick to my stomach when I see that the girl is holding a sharp blade of some kind in her hand, definitely deadly but likely too small for the boys to be able to see in their dim lighting. The next second Tommy is on his feet, running for a passageway, and the girl as sent her weapon flying. It buries itself in Three's arm and he screams from pain and fear, clutching at his wound. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. Tommy made it to a passageway. He is safe, at least for the moment.

With my nephew gaining distance from the bloodbath I finally realize that there is another tribute from Twelve. I had forgotten all about Sally and I can't even feel bad about it. I've trained her as best I could and if she survives the bloodbath I'll fight for sponsor money for her but there's nothing I can do for her right now.

I reach forward to grab the remote and switch to the channel that focuses on her but Peeta's hand on my arm stops me. His eyes are still locked on the screen even though Tommy is out of sight and won't be shown on screen for a while now unless something happens to him.

"I need to find Sally" I say gently.

Peeta doesn't answer. Haymitch's arm is around his shoulders and Emalda gives me an uncomfortable look.

"I think I saw her moments ago" she claims.

"I need to see her for myself" I argue. "I… lost track of her in the scuffle."

"No, don't" says Peeta when I reach for the remote again. His eyes don't leave the screen but his voice is begging me just as efficiently as his eyes can do sometimes. "Not yet."

"Peeta" I say gently. "Tommy is out of harm's way, at least for the moment. They're not going to show him on-screen until the bloodbath is over, you know that. Please. I need to know what…"

Before I can finish my sentence Peeta is on his feet, leaving the room in a quick stride. The rest of us watch his retreating figure and I fight the urge to get up and go after him. I want to be where he is right now. I want to hold him and for us to comfort one another. I want to care about Tommy and Tommy alone but that's a luxury I can't afford. We made a deal, that I would mentor Sally so that Tommy can have Haymitch focus on him. We can't walk away from that now when the Games have begun.

"Switch to Sally's channel, sweetheart" says Haymitch.

My hand trembles as I finally grab the remote. I enter the code that gives me access to my tribute's feed and I feel only empty when I see that Sally is stumbling down a passageway, a gash on her left cheek and a small bag of supplies flung over her shoulder. She survived. I'm happy for her and her family and friends but it's impossible to deny that it would be so much easier for me if she had died. I care about her and I wish she could get to live a long and full life but I love Tommy and if it comes down to the two of them I absolutely want him to be the survivor.

"She's okay" I say shortly and let the remote drop on the couch beside me. "I'm going to go get Peeta. He needs to be here in case…"

Unable to bring myself to finish the sentence I rise to my feet and head in the same direction Peeta went. I'm shivering and I rub my upper arms with my hands as I go. For the millionth time since Reaping Day I think to myself that these Games are going to be one long torture session.

I find Peeta in the dining room, leaning over in front of a window, his hands gripping the windowsill tightly and his forehead resting against the glass. I walk over to him and hark my throat to let him know that I'm in the room.

"You okay?"

He lifts his head up a little and glances in my direction.

"Is Sally..?"

"Alive. Small injury, scared senseless by the looks of it, but alive." I walk up to him and put my hands on his shoulder blades, feeling a stab of pain in my heart when he flinches at my touch. It's been so long since he last flinched at my touch. "You should come back to the TV room."

"I know Sally deserves as much mentor attention as Tommy" says Peeta through gritted teeth. "But if you want to watch her channel you're going to have to do it downstairs in the mentors' room. I want this TV tuned to Tommy around the clock, even when I'm out kissing sponsors' asses. It's not reasonable, I know that, but I can't relax unless I know the TV is tuned to him."

"I understand" I say softly. I run my hands up to his shoulders and place a kiss over his spine. "I want to be able to follow his feed too. I…" I want to say that I love him, to make sure Peeta knows that despite the lack of blood ties that boy is my nephew too, but for some reason it feels wrong to say it. Like I would be manipulating Peeta. Instead I tell him a much simpler truth. "When the Games begun I forgot about Sally. I didn't lose track of her. I never  _had_  track of her. It wasn't until Tommy had reached the tunnel that I…"

I trail off but I don't need to say anything else. Peeta has already turned around and I step into his embrace, sighing with relief that I can draw strength from him and that I can give him all the comfort that I can.

"I can't stop thinking of Ryean and Maggie" says Peeta.

"I know" I say, even though they haven't even crossed my mind since the Games began.

"This arena is horrid."

"One of the worst yet."

"Not only is their boy a tribute, he has to fight for his life in a claustrophobic, dark hellhole with no natural sources of food and water."

"Come" I say and pull back from his hug, taking his hand in mine. "Let's go back to the others. They might give us more information about the arena."

"Doubtful" says Peeta with a joyless laugh. "Not until the bloodbath is over and that will be a while yet."

We walk hand in hand back into the TV room where the sickening sounds of battle fill the air. When I take my seat accidentally I sit down on the remote. I grab it and hand it over to Peeta, who is right next to me.

"We need to stay tuned to the main feed for now until they've given the details about the arena" I say. "But find Tommy first. Just for a quick look."

He quickly enters the code for Tommy's channel and the screen changes from children battling each other to the death to a quiet and dreary corridor. Tommy has found a nook in the wall and is sitting there now, arms wrapped around his knees, panting and sweating and looking horrified. It's not a good idea to stop so soon but I don't comment on it. The walls seem to be made from dirt but I seem to recall the walls in Sally's tunnel being made from brick. Not that it matters much at the moment.

Tommy's eyes drift down to the weapon in his hand and they go wide as he lifts his trophy up. It's a miniature scythe, about three decimetres in length including the handle, no doubt as sharp as could be. The sight of it makes me uncomfortable and I think it's possible they're even showing this on the main feed right now because I've never seen anything like this before in the Games. Tommy's reaction is no doubt hilarious to the Capitol audience, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Quickly he puts the weapon down, placing it between his right thigh and the wall, keeping it hidden but still within his reach. I wonder if he'll be able to bring himself to use such a weapon. I'm not sure what lengths I'd have to be pushed to in order to do it.

With the weapon out of sight Tommy reaches for the bag of supplies he managed to snatch at the cornucopia. He opens it, reaches inside and finds a net-bag containing three small apples, a bottle of water, a pack of matches and a vacuum packed blanket which is small in his hand but will be much larger once it's out of the package. The last item in the bag is strange to say the least. A small instrument, a harmonica. Tommy stares at it and then rolls his eyes, stuffing it back in the bag but obviously thinking it's one of the stupidest finds yet. I share a look with Haymitch and Peeta, wondering what on earth the gamemakers intend it to be used for. What tribute would be stupid enough to use something like that in an arena where you can oftentimes hide in the darkness?

Tommy turns his head to look over his shoulder down the corridor in the direction he came from. He draws a deep breath and exhales through his mouth in a huff, as if to say that the game is now on. Peeta switches back to the main feed and pulls me closer as we watch the carnage unfold.


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

"Katniss I really don't feel good about this."

"Oh, get over yourself" I snort, annoyed by his protestations. "You are way overdue for getting over your ridiculous hang-ups about this. We're supposed to be adults these days and this is the kind of thing adults do."

Gale looks deeply disapproving but doesn't argue the point further as I grab a firm hold of his hand and lead him towards my front door. For months I've been trying to get him to visit me at home and he's always had some flimsy excuse as to why he can't. We both know what the real reason is but neither one of us says it out loud. Today I've finally tired of all the stubborn men in my life and decided to force at least one of them to do what I want him to do. I've been married for about a year now and not only have I failed to grow close to my husband, my best friend is slipping farther and farther away from me. If things keep developing in this way I will lose them both and I'm not willing to lose either one of them.

"It's just a house, it won't bite you" I say with a scowl. "It's  _my_  house and you are my friend and you should be inside it from time to time. You never had any problems visiting me in the other house."

"The other house was  _your_  house" argues Gale. "This is your marital… hearth."

"My marital  _hearth_?" I snort.

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't" I say sullenly, knocking my feet against the brick wall of the house to get rid of the snow underneath my boots. "Gale this is serious to me. You need to be able to be in my home or how are we supposed to be able to stay friends?"

To say that our friendship has been strained again is an understatement. After that day in the woods when we had our big fight we didn't speak to each other for over a month. It wasn't until we ran into each other outside the Hob that we exchanged words and it was anything but pleasant and easy-going. Thankfully our encounter did end with both of us offering an apology and since then we've gone back to meeting up in the woods every Sunday but there is a distance between us that I don't know how to bridge. I do know that I really want to try to, which is why I've dragged him out to the Victors' Village to spend the afternoon under my roof.

"It's not  _your_  home" says Gale as he walks up the steps to the front porch. "It's yours and Peeta's. You know why I'm not comfortable with that."

"For crying out loud, Gale" I sigh. "What are you expecting, that the walls are adorned with pictures of him and me having sex?" He makes a face even though he knows that we haven't consummated our marriage, which is one of the reasons why I can't wrap my mind around his reluctance to come and visit me at home. "Peeta's not even here right now, if you're worried about running into him." I unlock the door and usher him inside.

"Katniss I know I have to socialize with him on occasion" says Gale, looking around the front hall uncomfortably. "You know I don't have a problem with him in general. But as long as he is your husband…"

"So what do you want to do then?" I ask, slamming the door shut behind me. "Stop being friends?"

I begin to unbutton my coat and some of my anger fades away and in its place comes sadness. My relationship with Peeta is so complicated. Things with Gale never used to be complicated and the fact that they are now is eating away at me. I don't know how to express to him that I need him in my life without giving him the wrong impression and false hope. Why did he have to develop feelings for me? Why couldn't things have stayed the way they were?

"Catnip you know I don't want to stop being your friend" says Gale softly, remorsefully. "I'll try. I promise I will try. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah but you came kicking and screaming" I mutter, kicking off my boots.

"No more kicking and screaming, I promise" he says, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Just… Have the decency to give me time. I lost the girl I love and I'm worried that I'm losing my best friend as well."

Acting on an impulse I walk up and wrap my arms around him. Immediately his arms wrap around me in return.

"We just have to figure this out" I say in his ear. "Me being married does not have to mean that you and I can't be friends like we've always been."

"I hope we always will be friends" answers Gale. "But Catnip, it can't be like it's always been before."

"It can" I insist. "Peeta doesn't have a problem with our friendship."

"Maybe he doesn't but I have a problem with your marriage." He pulls back from the hug and runs a hand through his greasy hair. "It's not the same anymore and it never can be. You know that. I can't be the guy you're closest to anymore."

"No I know" I say with a nod. "Different doesn't have to be a bad thing, though."

I nod for him to follow me and lead the way into the kitchen. He looks around, seeming uncomfortable. Aside from being mirror-imaged the design of the kitchen, and the whole house, is a copy of the one I won and Gale has visited that house numerous times. Peeta has done other things with his house, though. The kitchen especially differs from the one in my house. Baking gear seems to be everywhere and Gale eyes the large metal frame holding four grates where Peeta puts the bread to cool, seeming to have a hard time figuring out what it's used for. His eyes then go to the rolled up plastic baking sheet Peeta works the dough on and to the five plastic bowls stacked on top of each other.

"He sure has a lot of… baking things" he comments.

"He spends his victor's money mostly on baking- and painting equipment" I say, walking over to the refrigerator. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thanks" says Gale, still looking around in the kitchen. His eyes land on a painting of three lemons in a bowl. "Did he make that?"

"He did" I nod. "That was before I moved in."

"So, right now, is he… out painting?"

"He's with his family." I open the fridge and grab a pitcher of lemonade, even though Gale declined something to drink. "He and his brother are helping his other brother paint the nursery for Peeta's niece or nephew."

"Merchants can afford nurseries?" says Gale. "I don't know why they act like they're impoverished, too. It's insulting."

"Depends on what you define as a nursery" I reply, setting the pitcher down on the table together with two glasses. "Ryean and Maggie were allotted a house about the same size as the one your family lives in. The nursery is smaller than my closet upstairs. Maggie wanted it painted to look more pleasant, since it has no windows."

"Which one is Maggie?" asks Gale, taking a seat by the table.

"The pregnant one" I say and he gives me a look. "Married to the younger of his brothers, Ryean. Daughter of a man who works at the Justice Building."

I pour him a glass of lemonade and he takes it in his hands but doesn't drink from it. He looks thoughtful.

"Rory has his eyes set on a girl" he tells me.

"Really?" My eyebrows rise a bit at the news. I take a sip from my glass and wait for him to continue.

"Makes me feel old" says Gale, making a face as he rubs his neck with one hand. "He was a kid, too young for the Reaping, just yesterday. Or so it feels."

"Just wait until it's Posy having her eyes set on someone" I say.

"I'd really rather not think about it."

"I pity the poor fellow she falls for" I say with a grin. "You'll no doubt be keeping a watchful eye on him, armed to the teeth in case he does anything to hurt her."

"I wish I had kept an eye like that on you."

An uncomfortable silence follows his words. I have to fight not to lose my temper. Why does he always have to go down this road?

"It wouldn't have made much of a difference" I say, my jaw clenched. "You are not my older brother. You have no right to ward off any potential suitors."

"I never wanted to be your  _brother_ " he replies.

"Good thing you're my cousin, then" I shoot back icily.

He sighs heavily and keeps on inspecting the room. I finish my glass of lemonade in one go, setting the glass back down with a bang. Sometimes I feel like Gale is making an effort to figure out how we will fit into each other's lives from this point on but other times I feel like he's not even interested in trying.

"What's that?" asks Gale, pointing at a picture frame sitting on the small table where we usually put what little mail we get.

"Our marriage license" I reply. We've been meaning to put it up somewhere but until somebody outside our families stops by it will probably stay on the table. "Got to show how proud we are of our wedlock, after all."

He snorts.

"Yeah, nothing in this house to feel awkward about in the least."

Angrily I rise from my seat.

"Fine, then just go. Nobody's forcing you to be here. Just don't come to me later complaining about how we're drifting apart and it's all  _my_  fault!"

"Katniss." He stands up as well, regret shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I am, okay? I am trying but it's going to take some getting used to."

"We've been a year" I say. Suddenly I'm not sure which one of the two boys in my life I'm actually referring to when I vent my frustration. "How damn long does it have to take to adjust and do what needs to be done?"

I feel Gale's hands on my upper arms.

"I am sorry, Catnip…" He pulls me close from behind, pressing my back to his chest. "I don't want to lose you. I realize now that I need to get over you. That's going to take some time, you know."

"Don't go to any trouble for my sake" I say surly, though being close to him this way relaxes me a little. I close my eyes and allow myself to feel just how starved I am for physical closeness. Peeta never holds me close like this unless I've just woke up from a terrible nightmare.

"You deserve better than all this" mutters Gale in my ear. "You fought so bravely in the arena, you've been so strong all your life… This cage, this marriage, should not have been your destiny."

"It is what it is" I say, sighing heavily. I take a step away from Gale, out from his embrace, and I walk over to the table and grab the framed marriage license. "This part is the easy part. Spending a lifetime with Peeta… He's a good, kind person and I can depend on him." I put the license back down. "The difficult part is when we'll be forced to have children. When we have to be mentors for our own kids." I force myself to smile, trying to push the dark thoughts away, and I turn towards Gale. "I don't know about you but I would love to do something normal. There's a deck of cards around here somewhere. Do you still remember how to play Turn Ten?"

He nods and smiles slightly. Feeling relieved I show him to the study and grab the cards from its place on the bookshelf. There's a writing desk in the room but I would feel weird playing cards with somebody while sitting at a desk. Memories of a conversation I had with President Snow a year and a half ago spring to mind and I shudder slightly. I'm still not sure I have convinced him that I love Peeta. I'm begging to fear that only a baby could do that. A baby Peeta is not willing to make with me.

I sit down on the thick rug on the floor, motioning for Gale to do the same. Quickly I lay out the cards in front of us and place the rest of the deck in-between. I'm not particularly fond of playing card games but I've spent so many long winter nights playing them with Prim, and occasionally with Gale, that I could do it in my sleep. It's something comfortable and familiar. Hopefully it's something Gale and I can do together without any problematic feelings getting in the way.

 

 

 

We end up having a nice afternoon, despite everything that initially pointed to the contrary. Peeta doesn't show up, which makes me wonder how long it takes to paint a nursery that can barely fit an adult and a crib, but I hold back my concern that something might have happened and don't say anything about it. I'm afraid that if I say or do anything to imply that I want to hear my husband walk through the door Gale might get cross or decide to leave. We are having such a good time together, almost like old times, and I want to hold on to it for as long as I can.

Gale even stays for dinner. The thought of offering to cook something fancy crosses my mind but I quickly discard it. Gale probably doesn't want to eat anything sponsored by my Hunger Games victory anyway and if Peeta comes home in the middle of the meal I don't want him to get the impression that Gale and I are having more than a friendly dinner together. I'm working on a new strategy to get him to go to bed with me in every sense of the word and a big part of that is making sure he doesn't think I have romantic feelings of any kind for Gale. As long as he suspects that I might rather be with my official cousin there's no way he'll ever touch me like that.

We eat leftovers from last night's meal, mashed potatoes with meat from the wild turkey Gale and I shot last week and a bit of gravy. As we eat I can't stop my eyes from going to the clock above the kitchen door. It's past six o'clock and pitch black outside. Where is Peeta? Why hasn't he called me to tell me that he'll be late? There's a phone in the bakery and Ryean's house is only three blocks from there. He could easily have gone over to his parents' house to make that phone call. Doesn't he realize that I will worry if he's not home in time for dinner?

If Gale notices my discomfort he doesn't let it show. We finish dinner and he helps me clean up afterward. He looks out the window and squints to see the digital numbers on the thermometer.

"Ten degrees below…" he says, shivering slightly. "I shouldn't have stayed this long. This kitchen seems even more warm and hospitable when it's dark out."

"You can stay a while longer if you want" I say. Having him here helps keep my mind off of Peeta's absence.

Gale nods and smiles at me. He starts to tell me about something Thom told him at work the other day but I'm barely paying attention. I stopped looking at the clock while we were doing the dishes, realizing it won't make Peeta come home faster if I count every minute that goes by until he does. I make us tea and we sit down at the table together, both trying to extend his visit for as long as possible, albeit for very different reasons.

We both turn our heads in the direction of the front hall when we hear heavy stomps on the porch, coupled with the muffled sound of voices. A second later we hear the door being opened and I'm on my feet immediately, feeling frightened for half a second before I recognize the voices. Peeta and one of this brothers. I sometimes have a hard time telling their voices apart when I don't see who is speaking, all three of them sound very much alike, but I can safely assume that at least one of the people who just walked through that door is my husband.

"Peeta?" I say, relief coupled with anger washing over me. I'm so glad he's home but I'm furious with him for making me worry.

The noise from the hallway quiets for a second. Then I hear a thud followed by the door being closed rather hard.

"Hey Katniss!" bellows one of the Mellark boys. "Brought you something fun!"

Gale, who has slowly risen to his feet beside me, gives me a troubled frown. He seems on edge with whatever is going on, as if he's worried that trouble just walked through the door. Ignoring his apparent concern I begin to move towards the hallway when suddenly Peeta and Scotti appear in the doorway, the former leaning heavily on the latter, looking rather worse for wear. It takes no more than a look at Peeta for me to know that he's drunk, even though I've never actually seen him in that state before. His eyelids are heavy, his cheeks flushed and he wobbles where he stands. Scotti has clearly been drinking too but seems to be more sober than his brother, and sports a very wide grin.

"Peeta!" I say in an astonished exhale. "What on earth?"

"My brother the feather-weight" grins Scotti, unloading Peeta onto a chair. He cocks an eyebrow at Gale and me. "We're not interrupting anything, are we?"

Gale crosses his arms over his chest and gives my brother-in-law a challenging look but I ignore them both and walk over to Peeta, now slumping over the table looking like he might fall asleep any second.

"It's only seven o'clock!" I point out. "Why on earth are you drunk? At  _this_  hour?"

"Ryean's going to be a father tonight" mumbles Peeta, slurring slightly.

"My baby brother is a feather-weight and my middle-brother is a wimp" grins Scotti. "Poor old Ryean is so nervous about the whole wife-in-labour thing that he demanded we get him sloshed." He slurs quite a lot on the last word. "Peeta here went to Haymitch and pro… proc… well, took some of his drink."

"So why are  _you_  drunk?" asks Gale in a disapproving tone.

"Brotherly support" slurs Scotti, steadying himself by holding on to the counter. "I can at least handle a few drinks and so can Ryean. But Peeta here…" He guffaws. "They didn't teach you how to down alcohol in the Capitol? What a waste of fine liquor."

"I'm not that drunk Katniss" says Peeta slowly. He rests an elbow on the table and leans his head against his hand, slumping further.

"Mother threw a fit when she saw him like this" laughs Scotti.

"She threw a fit when she saw the booze" retorts Peeta with sudden irritation and energy. He slurs a bit too. He turns to me and looks like he can't quite focus his eyes. "She sent me home, told me I was an emba… embassement."

"Embarrassment?" suggests Gale dryly.

"Mmm…" confirms Peeta.

"Don't know who's gonna be feeling worse tomorrow" says Scotti, still sounding entertained. "Peeta here, or Maggie if the baby hasn't come yet."

I feel a slight flush on my cheeks, feeling stupid for not asking about the baby on my own accord and cringing inwardly at the thought of what Maggie is experiencing at the moment. To distract myself from the thought of it I take Peeta by the shoulders and give him a nudge to rise.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

"I'm not… tired…" he mumbles.

"Peeta please" I say, knowing that if he passes out down here like Haymitch tends to do then I will never be able to get him up the stairs.

"Okay Katniss" he says, strangely compliant, and pushes his chair back.

Scotti walks over and grabs a glass from the dish rack, filling it up with water which he then downs in long, loud gulps. Gale eyes him sceptically. I find neither one of them to be particularly helpful at the moment.

"Scotti, are you spending the night here?" I ask, hoping that the answer will be no but doubting that he can make it all the way back to town in this condition. I can barely believe he got Peeta here in the first place.

"Can't" says Scotti, dropping the glass in the sink. Luckily it doesn't break. "Ryean is really freaking out. Guess having to listen to your wife moaning in pain while you wait for the midwife to get there so you can scram can do that to a guy."

I cringe, drawing to mind the women I've seen brought to my mother in the late stages of difficult labour. I was never able to stay in the house; I was out the door at the first scream. I can't imagine the kind of pain Maggie is in right now and I can't blame Ryean for having a hard time dealing with it. If I find it difficult listening to complete strangers giving birth it must be ten times worse for Ryean to hear the woman he loves go through it.

Peeta stumbles as he takes a step away from the table and I immediately grab a hold of him, wrapping his arm over my shoulders.

"Sorry…" he mumbles.

"Let's get you to bed" I say. "Can you walk up the stairs?"

He nods and hiccups. I can't help but wonder why anybody enjoys drinking this much alcohol. Peeta doesn't look happy at all and Haymitch's spirits aren't exactly brightened by the booze either. Scotti, on the other hand, is in a splendid mood. Too bad he's not walking entirely straight either.

"I'll leave you two" he announces, grinning widely at me. "Perhaps it's a good thing Peeta is too hammered to do anything fun with you tonight. Don't want to find myself in this predicament again in another nine months' time."

My cheeks turn beet red at his insinuation and I turn my face away, hoping Gale didn't see it. I help Peeta towards the stairs, finding he can stand without trouble but has a hard time walking straight on his own.

"I think I'd better follow this one home" says Gale, nodding at Scotti. He has a look of utter distaste on his face.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm heading in that direction anyway."

"Thank you" I say.

"Don't I get a thanks as well?" asks Scotti. "I brought your other half home."

"You also got him drunk" I retort icily.

"I'm fine, Katniss…" says Peeta slowly.

As I begin to move up the stairs with him I hear Gale herding Scotti towards the door. I've gotten Peeta about halfway upstairs when the front door slams shut behind them. Peeta looks tired and full of remorse.

"I didn't mean to ruin your evening" he slurs.

"Don't be ridiculous" I say. "Here, this way. Do you want to wash up and brush your teeth before going to bed?"

"Don't worry about me" he says, pulling his arm away from my shoulder and taking a few staggering steps towards the bed. He stops and sloppily unbuttons his shirt. "You can go back downstairs and be with Gale."

"Gale left" I remind him. "He too Scotti home."

Peeta looks surprised but his expression quickly changes back to the dejected look he's sported since he came through the front door. He unbuttons his jeans and begins to tug them down his legs, getting the fabric caught in his prosthetic. He leans forward and tries to tug them down anyway and almost loses his balance, spinning around and sitting down hard on the bed. I walk up to him and kneel to help him finish undressing.

"You're so good to me…" he says through half-closed eyes.

"Hush" I say. "You need to sleep this off."

I get his shoes off and the pants soon follow. Peeta lets himself fall back on the bed but he notices that he's lying on top of the bedspread and groans loudly.

"I'm sorry" he says again.

"Stop saying you're sorry" I say. I have no idea how to handle him when he's like this. I'm not good with dealing with drunk people at all. Most of the time it's Peeta who tends to Haymitch when he drinks too much. "Can you stand up? I'll get the bedspread."

Slowly Peeta gets back on his feet, standing there looking groggy while I get the bedspread out of the way. He lifts up the covers and crawls underneath.

"It's all wrong" he says and at first I think he's talking about having gotten in on my side of the bed. Then he sits up and shakes his head. "This isn't where you want to be. This isn't where you  _should_  be."

"Hush. You're drunk."

He lies down and worms his way over to his own side of the bed, rolling over on his stomach. He turns his head so that he's facing me and his eyes stay on me as I gather his discarded clothes from the floor.

"You wanted Gale. Got stuck with me."

"I never wanted Gale."

"You should have gotten to be with him. I don't want this any more than you do."

"I don't want to be with him so let's not talk about it."

"I love you" he says, and it makes me pause mid-motion. He has never said those words to me in private. "You don't love me. I don't want to be reminded all the time."

Slowly my hands sink to my sides, the clothes I was folding falling back to the floor. It feels wrong for me to hear him say this. I'm positive he wouldn't want me to hear it if he were sober. He would have told me all of this a long time ago if that were the case. Even so I can't bring myself to leave the room. That would only make things worse, like a confirmation that he's right. I feel so sad and tired as I watch him curl up in a foetal position and grab the comforter in his fists.

"I've ruined… for you…" he mumbles, his eyes closed.

"What?" I ask, wondering what he thinks he might have ruined.

"You should have had… If it hadn't been for me you would have…"

"Died" I finish his sentence but he shakes his head.

"You wanted him. Got stuck with me. I'm sorry."

Tears begin to fall down my face. This is all too much to handle. Being friends with Gale is so much hard work these days. I'm still not accustomed to not living with my mother and, above all, my sister. The façade we have to uphold in public is grating already and I know we have to keep doing it until the day one of us dies. Thoughts of Maggie and her current ordeal are still in the back of my mind. The frustration about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Peeta is beginning to take its toll. The concern I felt for him tonight was really difficult to bear, bringing to mind terrible memories of when we waited for my father to come out from the mines and he never did. And now this. Peeta's drunken confessions of love and guilt. He's not the one to blame for all this. I am. I was the one who caused the problems to begin with and Peeta just got caught up in the maelstrom. He's the wronged party and he believes he has ruined things for me.

Not knowing what else to do I discard my clothes quickly and grab my nightgown from underneath my pillow. I crawl in beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Peeta… You haven't done anything wrong. You hear me?"

"It's not right…" he mumbles slowly, drunkenly, sleepily.

"No, it isn't" I agree. "But none of it is your fault. Go to sleep."

"I wish I didn't have to be the one who took it all away from you" he says, and it hurts my heart to hear the words leave his mouth.

I brush a lock of hair from his brow and to my surprise I hear him snore. He doesn't normally do that but apparently this much alcohol has that effect on him. I'm not particularly sleepy myself and I know I need to turn the lights off downstairs anyway so I get out of bed carefully, finding my robe and wrapping it around me as I head downstairs.

The kitchen feels so empty now without Gale, and especially without Peeta. I make quick work of getting the house ready for the night and then I head back upstairs. I might as well go to bed and try to get some rest. When I walk back into the bedroom Peeta has rolled over on his stomach again, his right leg hanging over the side of the bed. I ponder lifting it back underneath the sheets but think the better of it. I pull down the blinders and get into bed next to him, staring at the ceiling and hearing the ticking of the alarm clock in the darkness.

 

 

 

The next morning I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching Peeta as he wakes from slumber. He frowns the second he opens his eyes and smacks with his tongue several times. When he turns to squint at me he lets out a groan.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Horrible" he moans. "Good grief… Never let me do that again."

"Do you want something to eat or drink?"

He turns and sits up slowly, rubbing his temples.

"No… God, my mouth is like sandpaper."

I wonder if perhaps I should be mad at him. That seems like the appropriate wifely response. Last night he had me very worried, then came home drunk as a skunk and ended the evening by spilling a whole lot of inner thoughts I really wish I hadn't heard. I ought to feel he deserves the way he's feeling now. Perhaps it is proof that I wasn't meant to be a wife when all I feel for him is sympathy.

"Katniss I…" he begins, peering up at me from underneath the curly bangs that have fallen over his eyes. "I have a terrible feeling that I said some things to you last night that you didn't deserve to hear."

Instantly I feel anxious and I reach out my hand and place it on his shoulder to calm him. I'm the one making him carry around guilt he doesn't deserve. I don't want him to apologise to me or feel bad about anything.

"You didn't say anything" I assure him, the lie slipping easily past my lips. "Well, you mumbled something about Ryean and Maggie but that was about it."

He sits up straight, groaning slightly at whatever discomfort the sudden movement caused him.

"Ryean and Maggie!" he exclaims. "Shit, Katniss, I have to find out if my brother has become a father."

"Do you want me to call the bakery?" I ask.

"No" he says, shaking his head slowly. He gulps and looks like he's going to throw up but manages to control himself after a few seconds. "I desperately need to shower. And have some water. And preferably go outside and stick my head into the nearest pile of snow. Ugh, this is the last time I am  _ever_  drinking. I don't care if Scotti freaks out a year from now because he's having twins or something!"

I can't help but chuckle and I move off the bed as he carefully lifts the comforter aside and slowly gets moves his feet off the bed and down on the floor. I walk over and help steady him but unlike last night he is perfectly capable of walking on his own. He heads for a cold shower while I make the bed. I can hear him throwing up in the shower and roll my eyes but still I can't seem to bring myself to fault him for any of this.

After his shower he gets dressed, slowly, and then follows me downstairs. He looks sick when I put a plate of fried eggs in front of him but manages to finish everything on his plate somehow. When breakfast is done he agrees to take a couple of pills the Capitol generously bestowed upon us when we were mentoring in the Quarter Quell. They know many mentors tend to drink a lot and they want them to be fit for fight, so to speak, the next morning so they provide everyone with pills that supposedly cures a hangover.

Silently I follow Peeta as he goes to put on his outerwear. He wants to visit his brother and sister-in-law and I know that I will follow him there, no matter how frightening I think this whole thing is. I'm terribly afraid that we'll walk through the door to the sounds of Maggie still screaming her way through childbirth and I'm relieved when Peeta turns to go to the bakery first. His hangover seems to have disappeared almost entirely by the time we knock on the back door and step inside. Apparently the pills work very well.

In the back room of the bakery Scotti is nursing a hangover too, without the aid of Capitol medicine. He doesn't look as bad off as Peeta was earlier today but his eyes are not fully open and he barely says a word as he sits at the table, nursing a large mug of tea. His mother shoots him irritated glances every now and then but doesn't say anything. Peeta grins widely at the sight of his oldest brother in this predicament, as if he's forgotten how terrible he himself was feeling only half an hour ago.

"My brother the featherweight" he grins.

Mrs. Mellark gives Peeta a look but doesn't get a chance to say anything because the bell rings inside the shop. She leaves and Scotti glares at Peeta who walks over to a counter and lifts the towel covering a large bowl, inspecting what is underneath it.

"You were way drunker than I was last night" says Scotti. "How the hell can you seem completely fine right now?"

"I'm still young" shrugs Peeta, the picture of perfect health compared to his older brother. "You, on the other hand, are getting rather aged."

Scotti just glares at him but doesn't say anything. Their mother comes back to the back room and Peeta turns his attention to her.

"We came to see if you had any news…"

"The baby has been born" she says, a strangely soft tone in her voice. "As of five hours ago your brother is a father."

The wide grin that appears on Peeta's face is so genuine that you'd almost think this news is a complete surprise to him. I don't know why everybody finds this news so amazing. Especially Peeta, who so carefully avoids becoming a father himself.

Moments later Mr. Mellark comes down the stairs, beaming, giving Peeta a big hug and me a gentle stroke of the cheek. As it turns out the whole family intends to go and visit the new parents together, which I know I would absolutely not want if I was the woman who only five hours later gave birth to a baby. I would like to sleep undisturbed for as long as possible and preferably not see another living soul except for the baby and its father. I look at Peeta and wonder, with an all new kind of nervousness, if his whole family will come knocking on our door when I've had our baby. He still thinks we can avoid procreation but I know that he is wrong.

Peeta hooks his arm with mine as we leave the bakery. Scotti wants us to stop by Allie's house and have her come with us but his mother sharply tells him no. This visit is for family only, and Allie won't be family until she and Scotti have their toasting this fall. It's strange to realize that Peeta's mother now includes me in the definition of  _family_ , although I suppose she has no other choice.

It's a short walk from the bakery to the new Mellark family's house. It's a bright and sunny day and Scotti is clearly suffering in his hung-over state but he won't dare to voice any complaints in front of his mother. Peeta seems bothered by the sun as well, though not quite as much as his brother. We reach the house, Mr. Mellark knocks on the door and after about a minute Ryean opens it. He looks tired and hung-over but the wide grin on his face is something I don't think I've ever seen on anybody before. For a brief second I imagine that it's Peeta's face I'm looking at, beaming with joy over the birth of our child. Ryean waves for us to come inside the house, backing away to give us space.

"Come in, come in" he whispers. "Maggie is awake but the baby is sleeping."

I don't understand how she can be awake, seeing as how she definitely didn't get much rest during the night. Quietly we all take our shoes, coats, gloves and hats off and end up piling all of it on a rickety chair in the hallway. Their house is small but comfortable and it's shaping up to become quite homely. Ryean leads us down the hallway and stops on the threshold of the bedroom door, smiling lovingly at the sight before him. When I reach the doorway I see Maggie sitting up in bed, cradling a little bundle. Her short, dark blonde hair is matted and damp and strands of it stick to her forehead. Her cheeks are red and there are dark rings under her eyes. Even so, the look on her face makes her truly beautiful.

For just the flash of a moment I envy her. That total bliss and utter love on her face is something I'm not sure I will ever get to experience for myself and when I see her gazing adoringly at her baby I can find some understanding in what I've heard so many women say, that the moment the baby has been born you forget the horrors of its birth.

"Come in" says Ryean in a low, calm voice. "Meet our son."

So it's a boy. Typical, since the baker and his wife have three sons and no daughters. I stay in the background as Peeta, Scotti and their parents carefully walk up to the bed and Maggie holds the baby a bit differently so they can all get a first look at him. My eyes go to Peeta and the joy and excitement on his face. It hurts a little, seeing how he loves his nephew already and wondering how much he would love a child of his own. I'm so transfixed on him that I don't even notice Ryean walking up to me.

"You can take a look, too" he says in a friendly, welcoming tone.

Surprised I take my eyes off Peeta and look at his brother, the new father. I'm not at all eager to actually see the baby up-close, having never been one to fawn over infants. It seems rude to reject the invitation though so I walk up to my husband and take his hand in mine, feeling a bit better at the familiar touch. I look down at the tiny person in Maggie's arms and I have to admit it's fascinating how perfectly human he is, even at only five hours of age. He has soft wisps of dark blonde curls on his head, teeny-tiny eyebrows and even perfect little eyelashes. The nose is a miniature version of Maggie's and the mouth has a little cupid's bow. I find myself staring at the baby boy's fingers, each one with a small little knuckle and a perfectly shaped nail. Peeta's hand leaves mine and comes to rest on my back and I feel closer to him in this moment than I have in a good long while.

"He's beautiful" says Mrs. Mellark, an uncommonly tender tone in her voice.

"What are you going to call him?" asks Scotti.

"Thomas" says Ryean.

That quickly pulls my mother-in-law out of whatever sentimental mood she was in and she goes back to being the hag I know her to be. She looks at her middle son with a furrowed brow and eyes full of disapproval.

"Thomas?" she echoes, as if the name is a curse word. "That's hardly a Mellark name."

"It's after my father's uncle" says Maggie softly, as if that explains everything. It of course does nothing to appease the new grandmother.

"Your brothers can name their sons Thomas, then" she says, still glaring at Ryean. "Men of the Mellark family have other names."

I feel compelled to ask her just how many male names you can make out of bread puns but I hold my tongue. If there's going to be a fight today it's not going to be started by me.

"You have no say in this, Mother" says Ryean, a warning in his tone.

Mrs. Mellark frowns, crosses her arms over her chest and opens her mouth to say something in return but Scotti beats her to it.

"This is not the time" he more or less hisses. "Don't argue and wake the baby."

Ryean turns his focus to his child and leans in to take him from Maggie, placing a kiss on her brow. The baby makes a faint noise in his sleep but doesn't wake up. Ryean offers the infant to his father and Mrs. Mellark seems to soften a touch again when she sees her husband holding their first grandchild.

"They're so tiny when they're newborn" says Mr. Mellark quietly.

"Probably don't seem that way on their way out though, huh?" comments Scotti, earning him a death glare from his mother.

After a few minutes Peeta walks up to his father and signals that he wants to hold his nephew. I can't believe he dares to. I would be absolutely petrified of holding someone that newborn. I don't even know  _how_  to hold a baby without running the risk of dropping it or squishing it. Peeta seems completely calm though as his father moves the baby over to his arms. I can feel a tug at my heartstrings as Peeta smiles down at his nephew and talks to him in a soft voice. It's clear as day that Peeta Mellark has a way with babies and that he ought to have a few of his own and in that moment I almost feel I genuinely want to give him one, and not to appease President Snow.

As I watch him hold baby Thomas my mind starts to try and work out the risks and the odds. I am as good as positive that Peeta's and my child will end up in the arena but would Snow dare to send more than one of our kids there? Wouldn't that be too blatant? Would the loss of one child be made more bearable if there were other children left with us? My eyes go to the baby and I feel a sense of panic at the thought of having one of those myself and then having to send him or her into the arena after twelve to eighteen years.

Slowly and quietly I move further back in the room, creating distance between myself and the Mellark family. I really don't feel like I belong here as part of the family. I feel like I'm invading a private affair, a private moment. Nobody even notices that I've withdrawn to a corner of the room, not until Peeta finally takes his eyes off his nephew and furrows his brow when he sees me.

"Do you want to hold him?" he asks his mother and she takes the baby from him, cradling him in her arms in what is obviously an experienced fashion.

"Thomas…" she mutters under her breath, obviously still annoyed. "You're too much of a Mellark to be a Thomas."

Peeta ignores his brothers and parents and walks over to me, lowering his voice to a soft whisper.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine" I answer in a low voice. "Just…"

"You want to come and look at him more closely? You can hold him, if you want to."

"No!" I say. "No, Peeta, I do not want to hold the baby. I got a look at him and that's quite enough."

He smirks.

"Not much of a baby person, are you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"You want to go back home?" I nod and he nods back. "Okay. I'll just go and say goodbye to Maggie and the baby real quick and-"

"No, Peeta" I say, putting my hand on his arm. "You don't have to leave. I'll go. I feel like I'm intruding on your family thing here."

"Don't be ridiculous" says Peeta. "Look, it's fine, I've seen him and I've held him and I honestly think Maggie could use some rest now. Let's go home."

I nod slowly.

"Okay. If you're sure. I'll wait out in the hallway."

I feel relieved as I leave the room and walk towards the front door. I can hear soft voices coming from the bedroom and after a minute or two Peeta comes out into the hallway. Without a word I hand him his outerwear and he puts it on. I open the door quietly and we step outside into the cold March day.

"I don't get it" I tell Peeta as we begin our walk back home.

"What all the fuss was about? It's a baby. Babies tend to-"

"No, the name thing" I say, annoyed at his condescending remark. "I understand your mother has a strange fetish for baking-related names but where did they come up with the name Thomas?"

"It's after Maggie's great-uncle."

"Okay…" I say, my tone telling him that I still don't understand.

"Maggie's father works in the Justice Building, like his father before him and so on" Peeta begins to explain. "They came to get those jobs because the family descends from a line of priests of one of the old religions. The family itself has about twenty or so living members at present, cousins and second-cousins to Maggie and so on. There are eleven male names they keep recycling. Maggie's father is Andrew, her uncle is Simon, her grandfather was Jude and so on."

"And her… father's uncle is Thomas?"

"Yes" nods Peeta. "Her paternal grandfather died young. I don't know what the actual causes were but from what I hear through gossip the whole regime and the Hunger Games never sat well with him and unlike the vast majority of Panem citizens he wasn't afraid to voice that opinion. Rumour has it he was poisoned."

"Why have I never heard about this?" I ask. District 12 is a small place and stories like that should have spread to the Seam.

"People don't like talking about it, because such things tend to be bad for your health" says Peeta dryly. "Either way, after Jude died his brother Thomas took Maggie's father, who was about five years old at the time, under his wing and raised him as his own. For all intents and purposes, he is her grandfather."

"I see" I nod. No wonder Ryean doesn't want his mother complaining about the name. Great-uncle Thomas must mean the world to Maggie's father, and to her. I often find my sister-in-law rather silly and too focused on useless sentimentality but I can appreciate wanting to name your child in honour of somebody who made such a difference. "Is the elder Thomas alive?"

"Died two years ago. Of course, we all know tradition dictates that the children be named in keeping with the line of the father but he was so important to Maggie and she doesn't have any brothers. Ryean, on the other hand, has two brothers who can name their kids in the traditional way."

His words make me wonder. I've never spent a single second of my life thinking about what I would name a baby of my own. I never intended on having any so the subject has always been without interest to me. Now that the decision to have children has been taken out of my hands I realize I will end up the mother of children with names like Peeta's. At the top of my head I can't think of a single baking related name that I like, except for my husband's.

"Your mother gets no say in naming our kids" I say sharply.

Peeta gives me an odd look.

"There won't be any kids to name."

"Yes" I say forcefully. "There will be." I think again of the night Maggie has had and it sickens me to think I will be the one going through that at some point. "Snow won't allow it to be any other way."

"What if we're barren?" challenges Peeta. "What then?"

"Do you honestly think we'd be that fortunate?" I scoff.

"No" he says in a dejected tone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a shortie this time around.

The sun begins to set outside the window. I find myself wondering how the tributes will know when it's daytime and when it's night when they can't see the sun. I wonder if it matters at all. The thought of how twenty-three of them will end their days in that underground hellhole, away from the sun and wind and water and trees, makes me shudder. I can't think of any arena I have hated more. Even the ones set in an ice landscape or a desert seem preferable to this.

The bloodbath at the cornucopia lasted for over two hours and resulted in six casualties. The darkness no doubt helped keep the numbers low. The boy from Three who took the blade to the arm was tackled by the boy from One and strangled to death a few minutes after Tommy made his escape. Three didn't stand a chance at getting the much stronger and heavier career boy off himself, especially with the damaged arm. The boy from Nine suffered the most brutal death of the day, having a sharp weapon of some kind jammed into his head via the ear. It was the girl from Four who did it, and her career companions congratulated her afterward for the nice kill. The other casualties were the girl from Five, the boy from Six, the girl from Seven and the girl from Nine. The career pack is intact. Both our tributes are alive. Both tributes from Nine are dead. Eighteen tributes remain.

I spend some time down in the conference room, checking in on Sally. She seems to be doing okay at the moment. Her small bag of supplies contained some crackers, a bottle of water and a pack of band-aids. When she saw the pack she fingered the cut on her cheek, looked at her fingers and saw that the blood had coagulated and tossed the pack back into the bag. She's made her way quite far into her tunnel and found a nook to sleep in. Every wall is lined with torches which can be lit or put out as the gamemakers desire but for now it seems they're going to let her be alone.

I return to our penthouse just in time for dinner and I ask Peeta for updates on Tommy. He's found himself a nook to hide in as well and the lights have been dimmed where he's hiding. Nothing particularly interesting going on there, so I can only assume that something more exciting is happening elsewhere. The gamemakers enjoy their cruelty but it's rarely haphazard. If other tributes are in greater peril or have more interesting storylines going on they aren't going to work to create a confrontation involving our tributes. Not right now. It's better to save that for later and always have something to interest the audience with. The first day is usually exciting enough without gamemaker interference.

When we have eaten dinner we sit down on the large, black, leather couch to watch the summation of the first day of the Games. Caesar and Claudius wax excitedly about various key scenes and the death of the boy from Nine is replayed three or four times, once in slow-motion. It seems most of the tributes have disappeared into separate hallways, though the boy from Five and the boy from Ten are actually in the same corridor, about a hundred yards apart, neither of them knowing that they have another tribute nearby. Surely this will be enough to provide at least some excitement and tension for the evening.

Once the summation is over they play the national anthem and images of the dead tributes are shown on the walls in lieu of a night sky. The girl from Six bursts out crying when she sees her district partner's face on the wall. I wonder if she knew him before being reaped together or if it's just a reaction to all the stress she is under.

Haymitch tosses Peeta and me our pagers, given to him by Emalda earlier in the day. Mentors are provided with them so they can find out immediately if something is going on with one of their tributes and their attention is needed. It's a fairly new feature introduced during the 89th Games. The career districts had by that time ranked up so many winners that they had a clear advantage over the other district mentors, who didn't have enough people to monitor both tributes at all times. Capitol audiences were beginning to complain that the Games had gotten less exciting due to the clear advantage of the tributes from districts One, Two and Four. The pagers have actually had some measure of efficiency. The 89th Games were won by Spark, a 17 year-old boy from District 3. Last year the winner came from District 1 but none of her three last living competitors were from career districts.

"We should watch the main feed" says Haymitch. "Our kids are asleep, both of them. I'm curious to see what these knuckleheads will be up to."

He nods to the screen where the career pack are heading down a corridor, making an awful lot of noise as they go. They are in a celebratory mood, as careers so often are on the first day, especially if all six of them survive the bloodbath. If you managed to forget that this is a battle to the death between children you could almost find their excitement invigorating. This will change soon enough as the numbers begin to dwindle and they begin to get hungry or thirsty or hurt. Soon enough they will have no choice but to turn on each other and that's when we usually learn who has been paying attention to the others and who hasn't.

"Should we go this way or that way?" asks Maximus, the boy from Two.

"I've heard you should always turn right when you're in a maze" says Lotus, the boy from One. I can't help but feel impressed. He's figured it out, clearly.

"Huh?" says Shimmer, his district partner. "Why the hell for?"

"Keep turning in the same direction at every corner and eventually you'll reach the end" he explains.

"Sounds like it would take forever" snorts Splash, the boy from Four.

"Maybe so but it beats running around getting lost."

"Solid plan" scoffs Maximus, grabbing a torch from the wall. "If this were in fact a maze. It's just a tunnel you idiot."

He holds the torch out to both tunnels they can choose to go down. He's lucky he found one of the few torches that can be removed. Or perhaps he's more perceptive that he seems to be.

"Down this way we have nothing" comments Shimmer. "Down the other… Well it looks like nothing but it smells awful."

"The one without the smell it is, then" decides Splash and sets off down the left corridor, the others in tow.

"Oh, this is exciting!" croons Caesar as we cut back to him and Claudius in the studio. "The corridor they didn't go down does smell but for the time being there's nothing particularly dangerous down there. Let's find out if the same can be said for the corridor they're heading down!"

I roll my eyes at the attempted drama. It's very unnecessary because we're immediately treated to a model of the way the careers have chosen and if they stay on it they will eventually end up at a dead-end with nothing particularly dramatic happening to them. There are two small side-corridors they could go down, one that has a supply station and one that has a deep well full of water. Fall down that well and you'll most likely drown. There's no way out of it unless you have teammates who can think of some way of getting you out.

The career pack run down their corridor, hollering and joking as they go. The girls from Two and Four seem to have become close friends and even begin holding hands after a few minutes. When they stop by the hallway that leads to the supply station the girl from Four, Ellie, wraps her arm around the waist of the girl from Two, Mara.

"Go check it out?" suggests Ellie.

"Later" decides Splash. "I want to see where this tunnel ends up."

"I'm telling you, it will be a dead end" says Lotus.

"You're a dead end."

"If you had to pick a winner out of the career pack, right now, who would you pick?"

It's Peeta who asks the question and both Haymitch and I give him surprised looks. Haymitch then seems to ponder the question but I go with my gut instinct.

"The boy from One. He's smart. Perceptive. I hate the ones with muscles and brains. It's a bad combo for our tributes."

"He can't be that smart" argues Haymitch, more or less just to argue. "He volunteered at seventeen."

"So who would you pick, Haymitch?" asks Peeta.

"The girl from Four. She's got a deadly throw and seems deceptive. That's always helpful if you find yourself in the need of disposing of your comrades."

"You think she'd kill the girl from Two in her sleep?" asks Peeta, nodding at the two girls who are once again running hand in hand.

"Wouldn't surprise me."

"Yeah but I still think-" I begin. My reply is cut short when the boy from Four trips over a large rock, catching our attention.

"You okay there, Splash?" laughs Maximus.

The camera is zoomed in on Splash whose eyes begin to look frightened as he, and us at home, detect a faint beeping. Before he can get up from his spot on the ground an explosive goes off, lifting his body a foot from the ground before it falls back down again. Staring wide-eyed at the screen I try to figure out what just happened. The career teens seem to be wondering the exact same thing, all except for Ellie who shrieks loudly and covers her face with her hands.

"What the hell was that?" she then asks, grabbing Mara's hand tight.

"Uh-oh, it seems our young Splash made an unfortunate discovery" says Caesar as we cut back to the studio, seeing the careers approach the boy from Four on the screen behind the two hosts. The sound of a cannon confirms that the boy is dead. "Quite the bit of bad luck there, wouldn't you agree Claudius?"

"Bad luck indeed" nods Claudius. "That blast shouldn't have been deadly but must have detonated right over his chest."

"One might say he made a bit of a splash."

"Can we turn this damn thing off?" I ask, getting up from the couch. I can never get used to how I'm supposed to feel relief that a tribute from another district has died, nor to the cavalier attitude from Caesar and Claudius.

"No" says Haymitch sternly. "I want to see how they react."

Peeta gives him an unsure look, seemingly debating with himself whether it's better to stay and find out how this year's career pack reacts to losing one of their group or to take the opportunity to call it a night and head to bed. After a few seconds he decides on the latter and gets up, following me to our bedroom.

I walk inside the room and go over to the bed, sitting down with a weary sigh. The first night is usually the worst, an emotional rollercoaster unlike any other. Peeta walks up and sits down beside me, reaching down to remove the shoe on his right foot.

"Seriously, this arena…" he sighs.

"I know" I say. "What sick gamemaker thought this up?"

"Magnus" says Peeta. "Had to be him. I wish they could have saved this design for the next Quarter Quell and gone with something more standard this year." He rises and unbuttons his pants, pulling them down his legs. When the pants are off he sits back down and falls backwards on the bed with a huff. "Can you imagine being Tommy or Sally, stuck in that dark cave? Not even knowing whether it's night or day? Knowing you'll probably never see the sun again?"

"No" I say. "No I can't imagine it. I can't imagine anything worse."

"Just thinking of what traps they might have hidden in this damn arena makes me nauseous" he grunts. "It's like I can't stop imagining it. Like I think I could somehow help Tommy get through it if I could figure out in advance what traps they might have set and think of ways to get around them." He snorts. "Even if I could I would have no way of getting that information to Tommy."

"I wonder how many of them will starve to death. Or thirst to death."

Peeta sighs heavily and sits back up again. He gets up and walks to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed.

"Do you think they might do something with the walls?" he asks while he squirts toothpaste on his toothbrush.

"Like what?"

"Like… Like making them burning hot or corrosive."

"Perhaps it's best not to speculate" I say, getting up and pulling my shirt over my head. "From your lips to the gamemakers' ears if we're unlucky."

He sighs heavily, then closes the door between us to brush his teeth and use the bathroom. When he comes back out a few minutes later I have changed into my bedclothes and pulled the bedspread aside.

"I can't stop thinking about things like that" he says, taking his place on the bed and resting the back of his head against his hands as he stares at the ceiling. "For some reason burning hot walls in particular are on my mind."

"No use trying to speculate" I reply, walking to the bathroom to get ready myself.

Peeta huffs and roles over on his side, propping himself up against his elbow.

"What do you suppose the harmonica is for?"

"Perhaps Magnus is a music buff" I say dryly. I begin to brush my teeth and Peeta doesn't engage me in further conversation.

Once I am done getting ready for bed I turn the bathroom lights off and walk back into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. Peeta has rolled over on his other side, facing away from me, the covers pulled all the way up to his neck. I get in beside him and look at him for a moment. What I really want to do is spoon him and immerse myself in our wordless way of giving one another strength and courage but he doesn't seem to be very receptive towards that. Sadness fills me as I am reminded of another time in our lives when he kept physical distance between us both during the day and in the bedroom.

"Peeta" I say. "It might still turn out okay. Tommy has a chance."

"Yeah" he replies in a monotone. "Sure. He does."

Exhaling in a huff I lie down and try to make myself comfortable. It's hard to fall asleep. Whenever I close my eyes all I can see is the walls of the underground labyrinth closing in on me.


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

 

Exhausted I let myself fall back on the bed, my head hitting the soft, downy pillow. It's over. Finally. It felt like we would never get to this point, but we did.

We've been up all night watching the finale of the 76th Hunger Games, where Quintus from District 2 ended up losing a nearly thirty hour long battle against Jade from District 1. Not that the winner is in a good condition either. We're still not sure if there's going to be a surviving victor for this year's Games or if Jade will exsanguinate faster than the Capitol doctors can pump more blood in. Our own tributes have been dead from early on in the Games and it's been nothing but a long and dreary wait since then.

Peeta is already in bed, fast asleep. He decided two hours ago that he doesn't care anymore who wins and that he'll find out when he wakes up anyway. We're not allowed to leave until the final battle is over but he snorted that he would like to see who was going to stop him. He's grown a lot more stubborn and defiant in the past year than I ever thought him capable of being.

For my own part I can't be bothered brushing my teeth, getting undressed or even getting under the covers. Instead I reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed and cover myself with that. I settle in on my side, facing Peeta. In my tired haze I allow myself to fantasize for just a moment that I'm under the covers and in his arms, the way I would like to fall asleep every night. I imagine I feel his warmth, his steadiness, hear the beating of his heart as I drift off to sleep. I miss that feeling of protection and comfort. I miss his body so close to my own. His eyelids flutter a little in his sleep and I wonder what he's dreaming.

With a sigh I roll over on my back. No use even thinking about it. Peeta keeps his physical distance and I keep asking myself if it affects him the same way it affects me, and if so, how he manages to persist. Being back in the Capitol for the Games has, for the first time, brought about something positive in my life. I feel foolish even thinking about it but it's hard to deny. When we're here and we're out in public we have to play the part of the happily married couple. Peeta wraps his arm around my waist when we're out walking, when we stop to chat with people he oftentimes stands behind me with his arms around my waist in an almost protective manner, and when people's eyes are upon us we sometimes kiss. I haven't realized how starved I've been for these touches until we came back here.

Thinking back on the past few months my mind goes to Gale and the time we spend in the woods together. Gale has become more physical with me, oftentimes putting his hand on my arm or wrapping his arm around my shoulders when we sit together in our glade. He'll give me playful little nudges from time to time, shooting me smiles that warm my heart. I've been thinking how it's good to know that at least one of the boys in my life has come around and stopped acting so awkward and bothered but right now I feel strange looking back at those touches. I've taken them to mean nothing more than camaraderie but deep down inside I'm not so sure that's all there is to it.

I wonder what President Snow would do if he found out about Gale's and my physical closeness these days. It would look like adultery no doubt. The thought seems absurd at first but deep down I know there's truth to it. I know I wouldn't be accepting as many touches by Gale if I got some closeness from Peeta at home. I know I can't blame him for any of this, nor can I blame Gale, but it's difficult to know how to handle this situation.

I look over at my sleeping husband again and wish I could tell him how much I would rather have it be his arm around my shoulders and his playful nudges. I know it's no use. The moment we return home to Twelve he will cease the physical contact. I decide to take this particular moment, even though he is asleep, to enjoy his closeness. I reach out my hand and carefully stroke his cheek, letting my fingers trail back to his hair and carefully comb through his curls. I scoot closer to him, as close as I dare go, and fall asleep with my face so close to his that I can feel his every exhale on my skin.

 

 

 

A week later the party to celebrate the victor is in full swing. The girl, Jade, has recovered from her injuries and thanks to some generous usage of Capitol painkillers she appears completely unbothered. She sat on up stage with Caesar Flickerman and watched herself perform in the Games, killing four tributes on her road to becoming the victor. It's hard to tell if she's really as unbothered and cold as she appears or if that's the work of the drugs.

Once the cameras have been turned off the party commences and Peeta and I begin our show, though keeping it properly subdued. We wouldn't want to steal the spotlight away from our glorious victor, now would we?

We walk past a table filled with plates of fruit. Peeta picks up a strawberry and dips it in whipped cream as we pass by. He then holds the berry out to me and I take a big bite, closing my eyes for a second as I enjoy the sweet taste. A bit of cream has ended up at the corner of my mouth and Peeta leans in and licks it up in a kiss. It sends a pleasant shiver run through me. I'll never know how he can be so good at small moments like that.

"The happy couple" says a familiar voice behind us.

I feel a cold shiver run down my spine as we turn around and find ourselves face to face with President Snow. He hardly ever appears at these things other than to stand on his balcony and say a word or two. Seeing him down here, among actual people, is somehow frightening.

"President Snow" says Peeta, pretending as if it's no big deal at all.

"Oh how it warms the heart to see young love" says the president with a smirk.

I have to force myself to keep the smile on my own face. People are watching us; I can't let my discomfort show.

"Oh we try to tone it down a notch when we're out among people" I say in a coquettish tone I never knew I had until the Games.

"Indeed." He smiles slightly. "I have arranged for an interview with the two of you tomorrow. It's been a while since the people of Panem last got to hear from you. It's so important, don't you think, to remind them of the happy things in life." His eyes trail up and down by body in a way that makes me feel like he's undressing me in his mind. It makes me shiver and I grab Peeta's hand tighter. "No happy announcement of an addition to the family forthcoming?"

"No" says Peeta, sounding more casual than I would be able to. "Not yet."

Snow steps closer to us and then leans in so that he can lower his voice for only Peeta and I to hear.

"It would be such a shame if the no longer star-crossed lovers didn't get to share the joys of upcoming parenthood with the whole country within the near future. Perhaps the two of you should spend more time working on that cause and less time worrying about the struggles of daily life." He turns to me and leans in even closer. He whispers in my ear and the smell of roses and blood nearly sickens me. "Let him in your bed. Or I shall be forced to find somebody else who can do the job."

So he thinks I am the one refusing Peeta. I can only muster the hint of a nod as he leans back and, after giving me one last smirk, walks away. The smile is gone from my face and I'm trembling. I knew this would happen at some point or other but I was hoping we'd have more time. Now I have to convince Peeta to take my virginity, impregnate me even, or it will be anyone's guess who Snow will pick for the job. Finnick Odair perhaps, the sexy young mentor from District 4. Brutus maybe, a large brute from District 2. Good heavens, what if he decides to have Haymitch do it?

"Katniss?" There is concern in Peeta's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Just… smile" I force myself to say. "And dance with me."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing I want to repeat out here."

He nods slowly and leads me to the dance floor. It's a slow dance playing and I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my cheek against his chest. I know I can't bring myself to smile and look happy in this moment so I close my eyes and pretend to be completely absorbed in Peeta. While we dance my mind is working in overdrive. What are we going to do? Do we have to actually conceive a child for Snow to be satisfied?

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes."

I open my eyes when I hear Jade's voice. She's standing right beside us, appraising Peeta with a smirk that show's a baffling amount of confidence. Her skin has that eerie quality all victors have fresh out of the hospital, all scars and blemishes removed, but her face seems pale even underneath the carefully crafted makeup. Her eyes, on the other hand, are vivid and insistent.

"How about a dance?" she says, her voice dripping with what I think is seduction.

"Go away" I snarl at her. "He's mine."

For a second she looks startled, then an amused smirk appears on her face.

"Very well, then." She winks at Peeta. "Some other time. When the missus is not in the wrong part of the month."

I scowl at her and without thinking my hand leaves Peeta's neck and moves to slap her. Peeta luckily catches me mid-motion and manages to make it seem like we were just switching dance positions.

Jade walks away into the crowds and Peeta and I both watch her go.

"Come on" he then says. "Let's get you out of here."

 

 

 

 

"We have a problem" I declare the second the door closes behind us and we are alone.

"Yeah I got that" remarks Peeta. He begins to loosen the tie around his neck. "What exactly did Snow say to you?"

"You're going to have to take off a lot more than that" I say, already working on the unnecessarily complicated button arrangement at the top of my dress. "No more putting it off. Tonight is the night it has to happen."

"That what has to happen?"

I look at him for a moment, hesitating. It's hard to put words to it. I look over to the bed and he follows my gaze. When I look back at him our eyes meet. He then snorts and shakes his head, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand.

"You can't even  _say_  it. There's no way we're going to actually do it."

"Yeah but we  _have_ to" I say, grabbing the bedspread and yanking it down with a forceful tug.

"Why?"

"You know why." I stop for a moment and look at him. "He thinks I'm the one refusing  _you_ … sex. He's grown tired of waiting for us to have a baby."

"A man his age being so fixated on a pair of teenagers procreating is just twisted" says Peeta surly.

"Come on" I say, resisting the urge to scowl. "You know what it's really about. He wants to control us and he wants to-"

"What he wants is to stop any speculation that you and I did that thing with the berries for any reason other than love for one another." By now he's shirtless and he makes a point to grab a flannel pyjama jacket to sleep in. "I'll take care of it. Without you having to do anything you're clearly not comfortable doing."

" _How_  are you going to take care of it?" I ask, feeling near tears. "I'm okay with it; let's just do it."

"No you're not okay" he argues. "Just leave it to me. I can handle Snow."

"Peeta."

"That's the end of it."

He pulls the pyjama top over his head and climbs into bed. I stand beside the bed, eyeing him with frustration. I should tell him about Snow's threat. But for the first time I find myself hesitating because of what all of this would mean for him. He keeps insisting that he won't rape me, no matter how much I protest that it wouldn't be rape he clearly feels like it would be, but if it comes down to it being him or somebody else he'll probably agree that it's better for it to be him. But what does that mean? Forcing him to do it against his will, wouldn't that be raping  _him_?

It doesn't really matter. We're running out of time and options. I change into my own pyjamas and climb into bed next to him, knowing that we won't be sleeping in each other's arms tonight but one night soon we're going to have to do so much more than just sleep. There is no other alternative.

 

 

 

 

"So Peeta, Katniss… Tell us all about what's going on with you."

I arrange my face in the expression I most commonly use for interviews. One of a shy, coquettish girl who feels a little bashful about her own emotions. I probably won't be able to get away with that for much longer but for now I intend to rely on it.

We're sitting in an uncomfortable white loveseat in Caesar Flickerman's studio, recording the interview President Snow mentioned to us at the party the night before. We've been dressed up in matching red outfits which look very tacky to our eyes but apparently look darling to the audience. The interview is airing live, probably so we won't be able to do anything foolish. That makes it all the more important that I'm convincing, since there is no room for editing.

Peeta seems relaxed next to me. He's been introvert all day long and not even Haymitch seems to know what he plans on doing to get Snow to back off for a while. He hasn't even told me if he plans on doing something during the interview. Right now he's got a smile on his face and banters comfortably with Caesar as if they are old friends. He's retelling a story of an incident a few months ago, of when I was taking a bath and that stupid cat Buttercup came running into the bathroom and took a leap to sit at the tub, misjudging how slippery the porcelain would be and fell right into the tub with me. It ended with a hysterical cat and more than few scratch marks for me. The story is funny I suppose but when Peeta tells it he neglects to mention that it took place in my old house and that the person who helped dry me off and took care of my scratches was Prim and not him.

"So life in District 12 is still a fairy-tale" smiles Caesar.

I manage another fake smile, wondering if he's saying things like that to annoy us or if he genuinely doesn't grasp that fairy-tales have no place in the outer districts.

"We're enjoying out happily ever after" offers Peeta.

"I must ask you…" says Caesar, shifting to a more serious tone and leaning forward in his chair. "There does seem to be one component missing from that happily ever after. Tell me – have you given any thought to having children yet?"

Maybe he really is that obtuse. I didn't even know couples in the Capitol could make the active choice to have children or not. In the districts it's very difficult to have a physical relationship and avoid pregnancy and for victors it's as good as impossible.

Peeta looks away from Caesar for a moment and seems a bit upset. I suddenly feel worried that he's going to do something truly stupid, like give away the secret that we're actively trying not to have children. Instead he looks back at Caesar with sorrow in his blue eyes and swallows before he speaks.

"Well, Caesar, the thing is…" He glances over at me and takes my hand, squeezing it a little. "This is not something we had planned on talking about."

"Oh come on now" urges Caesar. "You're among friends here."

Peeta gives me another look, an apologetic one, which makes me even more worried. Is he just pretending, or is he going to actually out our secret?

"You see… Katniss did get pregnant while we were on our honeymoon."

My eyes go wide and I quickly turn my face away, trying to rally from the shock of that lie and to try and figure out where he is going with this. Luckily that reaction goes well with having had such a secret just revealed on national television, if it had been the truth.

"You did?" says Caesar to me, sounding both excited and worried.

"Katniss… She…" Peeta sighs heavily and squeezes my hand again. "We lost the baby. About two months after we got back to Twelve."

I can hear gasps and even a few cries from the studio audience, even though this outcome should have been obvious since we didn't bring a child to the Capitol this year. I feel completely mortified by what Peeta is saying but at the back of my mind I know that my reaction works so I let myself just go with it and play along. I can chew him out later. There's no way I can deny his claims right now anyway.

"Oh I'm so sorry" says Caesar, brimming over with compassion, his hand pressed to his heart.

"It was devastating" says Peeta. His voice sounds thick with barely restrained emotion. I don't know how he does it, neither the lies that come so effortlessly out of his mouth nor the way he says them as if he truly believes that what he's saying is reality. "It took us months until we felt we could try again. And we were successful when we did try. But it didn't work that time either. Then we thought third time might be the charm but…" He shakes his head, gives me a sad look and then turns back to Caesar. I think I see the hint of a tear in his eyes but I can't be sure. "We can't do it again. We just can't. Maybe it's not meant to happen for us. I don't know. All I know is that losing a child… There's nothing worse than that. I think anyone out there who's a parent knows what I'm talking about." His face turns to me again. "Katniss and I cannot lose another child. So we made the decision not to try and have another. We don't need babies anyway, right? We have each other and that's more than we ever dared hope for."

By now Caesar has tears in his eyes, I hear sniffling in the audience and I'm about ready to burst out crying myself. Maybe he really did do it. Maybe this brand new story he's concocted can save us. Nobody is going to expect us to get pregnant after hearing this. It all depends on whether Peeta is right about Snow's intentions or if I am.

"Katniss, do you have anything to say?"

I turn towards Caesar, still reeling from the shock of everything Peeta has been saying. After a second or two I manage to gather my wits and find my voice.

"No" I say hoarsely. "Just what Peeta said." I look at my husband. "We cannot lose another child. We have each other and that's enough."

 

 

 

 

Once the interview is over we are taken back to our quarters where Haymitch and Effie are waiting. Neither Peeta nor I have spoken as much as one word on the way over but the people escorting us seem to think we're just sad and emotional after the tragic reveal during the interview and have let us be. I'm guessing Effie and Haymitch won't accept our silence, though.

"There" says Peeta once we are alone with our mentor and main escort, barely even looking at me when he speaks. "I took care of it, like I said I would." He walks past me and heads straight for our bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

"What did you do to put him in that great mood?" asks Haymitch dryly.

"Go drown in a bottle, Haymitch" I snarl and begin to walk off.

"I don't think he wants you to follow him."

"That's my bedroom too" I scowl.

"Let me put it another way then… Think it will be any pleasant in there, you and him alone, right now?"

I know he's right and I know Peeta deserves privacy if he wants it but it still irritates me a lot. I want to have an argument with Peeta, let my frustrations out, yell at him for the things he said on TV and make him tell me why he can't manage to take me to bed. Is the thought of sleeping with me really that apprehensible to him?

"Katniss, darling, I'm so sorry" says Effie, reminding me of her presence and of the play we're performing.

I want to snap at her and let her know once and for all that what Peeta said during the interview was just a lie. What stops me is the knowledge that the walls have ears and we might end up in even greater trouble if I say too much.

"Why,  _why_  can't people just stop pestering us about babies?" I cry instead, venting as much frustration as I dare to. "It's like this big, huge bat they keep hitting us with all the damn time. Can't we have  _anything_  to ourselves?" I'm almost at the verge of tears, not because I'm sad but because I'm so damn frustrated. "Does no one realize how  _hard_  it is to constantly have to talk about it? Doesn't anyone see what a toll it takes on us?"

Haymitch walks up and grabs a hold of my arms, a move that would normally make me angry but even in my current state of mind I realize he's about to dole out some important piece of advice having to do with things beyond my comprehension.

"I'd lay low with the whining if I were you" he hisses in my ear. "Damn it, sweetheart, you and Peeta have got it made. There isn't an attractive victor in Panem who doesn't wish they had your lot in life. Realize, Katniss, that the cross you have to bear is a mere splinter compared to what most of us are settled with."

He lets me go in a slightly forceful motion that nudges me back a few steps. My eyes meet his and for the moment my anger and frustration is subdued and replaced with worried curiosity. What does he mean? None of the other victors have been forced into marriage. Many of them are as single as could be, spending one or more nights every year with some rich or important Capitol person. They gallivant about freely, enjoying themselves as much as possible, making the absolute most of their position as celebrities. What crosses do they have to bear that outweighs Peeta's and mine?

"Let the boy be for now" says Haymitch in a normal tone of voice. "He needs some solitude. You need a goddamned drink."

"That's your solution to everything" I scowl, wanting to get back some of the ground I feel I just lost. "Alcohol."

"Bless whoever first discovered it." He spins me around and puts a large hand on the small of my back. "You should try it, for once."

"No thank you" I say stubbornly.

He ushers me towards the bar in the sitting room, me resisting mostly to put up a symbolic fight, realizing I have nowhere better to be right now anyway. With a scowl I take a seat on a barstool, roll my eyes and look away as Haymitch pours a drink for himself and one for me. I hear the clicking of Effie's heels and wonder why she's followed us. Surely she hasn't turned to drinking too.

"Bottom's up, sweetheart" says Haymitch, setting a tall glass full of some pale red alcoholic beverage down in front of me.

I scowl at him and am just about to childishly shove the glass over the counter and down on the floor when Effie speaks.

"Really, Katniss, drinking won't help matters."

Feeling provoked I glare at her and defiantly grab the glass, chugging back two large gulps that burn surprisingly much going down. Couching and hacking I set the glass down with a slam, my eyes filling with tears. Haymitch laughs and Effie throws her hands up in the air and trots off.

"Such a rookie" laughs Haymitch. "You disappoint me, sweetheart."

"I seem to disappoint everyone these days" I mutter, feeling sorry for myself.

"Oh fantastic" sighs Haymitch, taking a seat beside me and sipping his own drink. "A pity party."

I hesitate for a moment, then lower my voice to what's barely more than a whisper.

"Peeta pushes me away. I thought he would want to  _be_  my husband when we got married but he acts like he hates the whole damn thing. Gale didn't speak to me for weeks after the wedding and he alternates between acting like we can't be friends like we used to be and acting like we should be more than friends. President Snow wants me to be a damn breeding mare and no matter how I act in public he still makes me feel like I'm not selling the romance thing enough."

"I'm fresh out of pity" says Haymitch. "I don't care about any of the things you just said. You're still the luckiest damn victor in the bunch, with the exception of the ugly ones, not that Snow can't make their lives miserable too."

"How the hell am I lucky?" I snort.

"You'll find out in time" he sighs, for the first time sounding genuinely wistful, though I'm too wrapped up in my own problems to care. I don't really want to know what other miseries we might be subjected to.

"I think it's more accurate to say I'm thoroughly screwed" I complain.

"Katniss, wake up" snorts Haymitch, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "If Cousin Hunting Buddy is a real friend to you he's not going to go anywhere. As for that boy you're married to, he loves you unconditionally and very few people are lucky enough to find someone who loves them like that."

"So what?" I ask, feeling a strange lump in my throat. I take another sip of alcohol to force it away. "He doesn't act like it." I have no idea why I tell Haymitch the next thing that slips past my lips in a hushed whisper. "He won't even consummate the marriage with me even though he knows I want that to happen."

This catches Haymitch's interest. He gives me a long, thorough look while I feel my cheeks burning red, wishing I could disappear from the face of the earth. What the hell was I doing telling him that? What happens if somebody overheard?

"So you're telling me…" Haymitch begins with incredulity, gesturing back and forth with his hand. "You're telling me that you've invited the boy to go ahead and dive right in and he… stays on the shore?"

"What the hell kind of euphemism is that?" I bark, trying to hide my embarrassment by taking another gulp from my drink.

Haymitch whistles and nods his head slowly.

"Got to say… Never thought the boy had that in him." Then he laughs. "I mean, I knew he refused initially but I gave it about two months before I figured he would break and give in. He's wanted you for most of his life. If you are actually  _trying_  to get him to…  _breech that frontier_ , as it were, then he's got more character than anyone I know." He nods thoughtfully. "Though this does explain why he's so grouchy nowadays."

"He's not grouchy" I snarl.

"He must be spending an awful lot of time showering in ice-cold water. You're basically dangling a large steak in front of a starving man and he's refusing."

"Haymitch enough with the metaphors."

"Look sweetheart, I mean what I said" says Haymitch, now serious in his tone. "You are the luckiest victor in the bunch and you will realize why some day. Peeta might just have bought you enough leeway today that you'll never have to do what he's resisting to do. Don't push him. I'm worried he might snap. There's only so much a person can take, even if they are unbelievably stubborn."

He grabs his glass and then grabs mine as well, walking off to his bedroom with the drinks. I watch him go and sigh heavily. What's wrong with me? Even though Peeta might have saved us from ever having to have sex I still feel like I've been cheated of something. I don't know if what I want is  _sex_  per se but at least having sex would allow me physical closeness to him. I miss having that and I don't want to go a whole lifetime without it.


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

I'm alone in bed when I wake up the following morning. Out of habit I reach out my hand and touch Peeta's pillow to feel if it's cold or if it's still warm. I find it cold. He must have been up for a while.

I roll over on my other side and look at the alarm clock. It's just past eight in the morning. Breakfast won't be served until nine. With a yawn I sit up, stretching my arms above my head. I've slept without nightmares, an anomaly for Hunger Games nights, but I'm not about to spent any time thinking about that. There's a gnawing worry at the pit of my stomach, for Tommy and for the tribute I need to put the majority of my focus on.

My first stop is the shower. I let the hot water pour down on me while I brush my teeth using Peeta's toothbrush. My mind feels a bit foggy and unfocused and I need to find a way to snap out of that. I need to get some food in my stomach, check in on Sally, get an update on Tommy and then get to work securing sponsors for the girl. It's hard to say at this point whether she will be a tough sell or not. She had interested sponsors before the Games even started but that can change fast and it's no secret that I am the least capable mentor from District 12 when it comes to procuring sponsors.

As I step out of the shower and begin to dry off I think back to the night they announced the tributes' scores. The career tributes naturally got scores of either nine or ten. None of the youngest tributes got more than a five. Throughout the show Sally sat with her arms crossed and a grumpy glare, barely even looking at the screen, while Tommy looked calm and composed but his foot swayed back and forth rapidly the way it often does when he is nervous.

His score turned out to be an eight, just like Peeta's had been, and he let out a relieved sigh when the number was announced. Peeta put his arm around his shoulders and gave him a small congratulatory nudge while Haymitch smiled and patted him on the knee. My eyes went to Sally who snorted and rolled her eyes and I wanted to snap at her for begrudging him a good number. Then her score was announced and it turned out to be a six. She barely reacted at all, outwardly, but I could see the corner of her mouth tremble and a frightened glint in her eyes. The upbeat mood from Tommy's eight went away and awkwardness replaced it. It's always like that if our boy tribute gets a better score than the girl – you congratulate the boy and then have no clue what to say to the girl. It's a little bit easier if the girl gets a good score and not the boy because the contrast becomes less glaring but the celebration is still rather dimmed.

Tommy was the only one who said anything at all to her. He gave her a look that was so much like Peeta and said to her that she deserved better than a six. She told him to go to hell and stormed off to her room. Any remaining desire to celebrate Tommy's eight definitely went out the window at that point.

The memory troubles me, for two reasons. First and foremost because a six is not a good score for a girl her age and I had expected at least a seven, possibly an eight. Second that abrasive personality is not going to make it any easier for me to ensure sponsorship. I guess she's going on the offense to hide her desperation but that doesn't help me and it sure as hell doesn't help her.

It's almost nine o'clock by the time I leave the bedroom and Emalda, the two stylists and Haymitch and Peeta are all gathered by the table. Peeta looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, but he seems composed and calm enough to sit down and have breakfast which I take as a good sign. Peeta rarely gets so worked up that he can't set aside fifteen minutes to eat something but with our nephew's life on the line all bets are off.

"Good morning" I say as I take my seat beside him.

"Good morning."

"Morning sweetheart" says Haymitch without looking at me.

"You didn't sleep much" I say to Peeta, not bothering to make it a question.

"Couldn't" he mumbles under his breath.

An avox places a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and I grab my fork and dig in, the taste barely registering.

"And Tommy?" I ask between bites.

"Fell asleep very late, hasn't woken up yet." He takes a few gulps of milk from the glass in front of him. "Did you get a chance to check up on Sally yet?"

"No, not yet. I assume she's still alive since my pager hasn't beeped."

He nods slowly, his eyes fixated on the porridge he's been served for breakfast this morning.

"I thought I'd head out and mingle among the Capitol riff-raff before lunch" says Haymitch. "Feel like joining me, sweetheart?"

I nod, feeling relieved at the suggestion. Haymitch is about a thousand times better at the sponsor dance than I am and going out to try and woo rich Capitol dimwits for their money is a lot easier if he is with me.

"Just give me a chance to check in on her first" I say.

"She was still sleeping, too, last time I checked."

I nod again, absentmindedly. The two stylists begin to talk with Emalda but none of us mentors say anything else for the duration of the meal. I finish my eggs but Peeta barely touches his porridge. I feel compelled to point out to him that he needs all the energy he can get, that  _Tommy_  needs him to be at the top of his game, but I don't think that anything I say will make a difference right now.

I finally finish my meal and push my chair back, not eager to get to sponsor fishing but longing to have it over with.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you by the elevators" I tell Haymitch.

I begin to walk towards the sitting room and I throw a glance over my shoulder to see if Peeta disapproves. If he does, if he wants me to go downstairs to check on Sally even though he's sitting by the breakfast table still and thus not watching Tommy anyway, then I'll be really irritated. Strangely I feel that I actually want him to object, want to get irritated with him, want to blow off some steam having a fight with him.

I shudder and rub my arms to gain some warmth from the sudden chill that seems to overcome me. The Games have a tendency to bring out a querulous side of me. And Peeta doesn't object, doesn't seem to care that I'm claiming our screen for the time being. I don't think I was honestly expecting him to make any irrational protests anyway.

Taking a seat on the armrest of the couch I grab the remote and tune in to Sally's feed. She's lying on dirt ground, her left hand serving as a pillow, her breath coming even and slow. It makes me nervous. Seeing my tributes sleep always makes me nervous. I switch to the main feed to see what else is going on but it seems that only the career tributes and the girl from Six are awake. The careers are maybe five or six tunnels away from Sally and one additional tunnel away from Tommy, with several other tributes closer to them. That is the only thing that makes me relax at the moment.

 

 

 

Ten minutes later I stand by the elevators, dressed for a turn around town, decked out in a deep green outfit made by my stylist Lasha. My wedding ring is on my finger and my hair is done up in its signature braid. Haymitch pounded it into my brain years and years ago that if I want to seduce presumptive sponsors into giving away their money for my tributes I need to keep reminding them of who I am and why they rooted for me all those years ago. Each year it grows increasingly difficult as many of the new people who might be willing to sponsor tributes are too young to clearly remember my turn in the arena. I'm becoming something of a has-been, though lucky for my tributes President Snow insists on reminding everyone of the star-crossed lovers each year.

I close my eyes for a second and sigh heavily through my nose. I don't want to think about the star-crossed lovers right now. Things are bad enough as it is without worrying about how Peeta and I will be able to play our part this year to Snow's satisfaction.

A clean-shaven and nicely dressed Haymitch comes walking up to me, ready to head out on town. I smile a little when I see him. Haymitch can clean up nicely when he wants to and when he believes one of the tributes stands a fighting chance he always wants to. It feels comforting to know that he believes Tommy can make it. Even if he's not so sure about that and is only making himself presentable for my sake and for Peeta's it still makes me feel better. I don't think one could get Haymitch to admit that he loves Peeta or me at gunpoint but to the pair of us, perhaps the only two living people who really know him, the signs are there.

"Ready, sweetheart?" he asks, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt slightly.

"Never" I sigh, pressing the call button to the elevator. "Glad to be doing this with you, though."

When the doors open we step inside the car and begin our ride down. Anxiously I bite my bottom lip and lean back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Relax" says Haymitch, knowing I'm fretting without having to look at me.

"Sure" I say. "Nothing much at stake today. It's not like anybody's life depends on me being able to woo some Capitol numbskull."

"Always so  _dramatic_ " sighs Haymitch with rolling eyes,

"Must have picked that up from you."

He chuckles slightly, then looks at me.

"Your talents as a sponsorship procurer are about on par with my artistic talents" he says, making me scoff at the pathetic stick figure drawings that are the most artistic things I have yet to see him produce. "Your legacy as the girl on fire still holds cachet, though. Usually you're able to fool some poor fellow into opening their purse."

"I usually point them in Peeta's direction and let him do the talking."

"You know…" says Haymitch as the elevator reaches the entry level floor and the doors open. "You're not a terrible mentor. Any tribute is lucky to have you watching their back, sweetheart."

"I have a zero percent success rate" I remind him as we walk through the wide open space of the large entry hall.

"Every mentor does until they don't anymore. Once you get a hold of some sponsorship money you'll know exactly what to do with it. The girl is in capable hands. Just unwind and you'll have a better chance of success."

" _I_  need to unwind?" I scoff, glad to hear his remarks about my mentoring but too tightly wound to not still be cranky. "Peeta barely sleeps and barely eats."

"I'm not arguing with that" says Haymitch, squinting at the bright sunlight as we step outside. "Shove a piece of coal up his ass right now and you'll get yourself a pearl."

That finally makes me laugh and I feel myself relax just a little bit. I hook Haymitch's arm with mine and let him lead the way.

 

 

 

 

By the time we return to our quarters any merriment has definitely left my mind. I wasn't able to convince a single person to even consider sponsoring Sally and Haymitch fared little better trying to win sponsors for Tommy. I know I shouldn't get too downbeat about it. Early on in the Games it can be tricky to get sponsors because people haven't begun to really root for specific tributes yet. There are naturally exceptions to that rule but for the most part those exceptions were born in a career district.

"Tell me both our tributes are still alive and well" I say wearily as I walk into the sitting room where Peeta is perched on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.

"Tommy is searching for a supply station" replies Peeta in a fairly emotionless voice, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Sally isn't doing much of anything. Biding her time, I guess. Neither one of them is near any other tributes at the moment."

"This labyrinth is bad news all around" I sigh, pulling the band out of my braid and letting my hair fall down loosely over my shoulders as I slump down on the couch. "If the tributes' paths don't cross Magnus and his crew are going to get antsy."

"That's not going to be a problem today" answers Peeta in a monotone.

"Yeah?" I snort. "You're sure of that?"

He looks at me, something cold in his eyes that makes me sit up a bit more straight.

"Yes."

"Which tribute was it?" asks Haymitch.

Peeta and I both turn and look at him, leaning against the wall with a tall glass of ice water in his hand. He looks just as weary and downtrodden as Peeta does, and as I feel. And we're only on the second day of the Games.

"The girl from Eight" says Peeta finally. "Ran into a trap." He visibly shudders and closes his eyes for a second. "There was a… a carved image on the wall. She touched it."

I frown, wondering what exactly took her life. Peeta seems sickened by it so I don't want to ask him. I'll find out tonight, anyway, when we are all to relive the excitement and the thrill of watching that girl lose her life.

"Any luck winning sponsors?" asks Peeta wearily.

"This isn't a celebratory drink of water, boy" replies Haymitch, raising his glass.

With a groan Peeta settles back the way he was on the couch, facing the screen. I sit there for a few minutes, watching Tommy search for a supply station, but I can't bear the silence and the weary mood. I get up from my seat and without a word walk towards the elevators. As I ride down towards the common area for the mentors I wonder what I will say if I run into any of the mentors from District 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually forgot the chapter that was centered around revealing the scores, that's why it gets shoehorned in here. 
> 
> Next chapter will be back in the past, with some changes in store for Katniss and Peeta.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters I'm uploading without proof-reading first. Hope it still holds up!

I fail to see the allure. Sitting at the table opposite Maggie with baby Tommy on her lap I can't find anything about the little being that I find particularly swoon worthy. He is seven months old now, his hand shoved in his mouth with drool spilling out of him at an alarming rate. Maggie says he might be getting his first tooth. Personally I think he just doesn't grasp the meaning of hygiene, or proper table manners.

We are at the bakery, gathered for one of the family dinners Peeta and I both dislike. Scotti and Allie, married for a little over three months, have just made the happy announcement that Tommy is getting a cousin next year. I try to read the expression on Peeta's face after this news. He seems rather happy. He was very excited to be an uncle when Tommy was on the way but I have been wondering if perhaps the shine is off the apple now and each new niece or nephew only serves to remind him of the children he's determined not to have.

Mrs. Mellark is strangely pleased with the news, just as she was about Ryean's and Maggie's announcement. It's startling to see her dote upon her grandson, well, dote as much as she is capable of. Maybe children don't bother her until they start to walk and talk.

In-between cooing over the baby and telling Scotti and Allie how pleased she is she keeps sending looks at Peeta, clearly showing her displeasure with him for failing to bring her grandchildren. I take his hand under the table to show him I am aware of what she is doing and that he has my support.

Things were rather awkward between us when we got back to the district after the Games but it only took a week or two before we fell back into old routines. I just wish he would open up more to me and let me past the wall he has built. I know that's futile since he built the wall to keep me out but I hate it more and more as time goes on. I have noted however that since Gale and I haven't spent any time together outside the woods in the past month Peeta has started to warm up to me again. When I wake from my nightmares he sometimes holds me so gently that I can feel the love I hope he still feels for me.

"I hope your brothers' children will put some sense into your head" Mrs. Mellark says towards the end of the deal, finally adding words to her looks. "It's about time you got over yourself."

"Mother you know Katniss and I aren't going to have children and you know why" answers Peeta patiently.

"Right… And your brothers are mere… breeders for the Hunger Games, was it?"

"Mother you know what tends to happen to the children of victors" says Peeta in a very low voice, so low I'm not even sure she heard it.

Thankfully the baby takes this moment to haphazardly toss the old wooden rattle he's been playing with down on the floor, letting out a loud wail at the loss of the toy. The slight commotion that ensues leads to Maggie rising from the table and taking the baby, rattle now in hand, out of the room with Ryean and Allie hot on her heels. Abruptly I push my chair back and get up on my feet.

"Well this has been lovely as always" I say, "but it's a long walk home and it's already getting dark. Peeta?"

If he's surprised by my announcement that we're leaving, an hour earlier than we usually do, he doesn't show it. His mother doesn't even seem displeased to be rid of us, though his father sighs and looks dejected. Peeta congratulates Scotti again on his upcoming fatherhood and then we hurriedly move to the door and put our coats and boots on.

"You will come again soon, right?" says Peeta's father, who followed us to the door.

Peeta looks up from tying his shoelaces.

"Yeah. Of course."

I'm not entirely sure he means it but it's hard to say no to the gentle baker. I like to think that everything good about Peeta came from him. I cannot imagine a single personality trait he could have inherited from his mother. I can't even imagine that he was brought up by somebody like her. The contrast between his goodness and her coldness is one of the few things that makes me feel hopeful when I think about us having children. I am fairly sure I will be wasted as a mother but I know I will never be as bad as she is, and if she and a gentle baker could raise somebody like Peeta then Peeta and I can surely raise some pretty remarkable kids.

I feel Peeta's hand on my back, a signal that he's ready to leave. I grab my hat and put it on, giving Peeta's father a light hug and a kiss on the cheek before I follow Peeta out into the darkening evening. Snow has begun to fall, the first of the season, an early premiere since it's only October. Side by side we begin to walk back home as the flakes hit the ground and melt.

"I'm happy for Scotti" says Peeta, surprising me by wanting to talk at this point and by sounding much more content than he usually does after having left his parents. I guess he won't be needing to clean Haymitch's kitchen tonight, for once. "I think he will be a good father. I know he's apprehensive, actually. He worries about being able to support a family and he's scared his kids will get reaped. He never talks about it in detail but he's hinted at how he doesn't want to experience what our parents did when my name was drawn."

"Your father was devastated, I'm sure" I say.

He gives me one of those looks.

"My mother doesn't want me  _dead_ , Katniss" he says, the reprimand surprisingly gentle. When he puts it like that I feel a bit ashamed.

"Sorry" I mutter. "I just can't stand how she talks to you sometimes."

"It's not so bad" he says mildly.

I disagree but I decide not to take the argument. I try to think of something else to talk about, enjoying the fact that he's so pleasantly talkative right after visiting his family, but Peeta beats me to it.

"I can't believe how much Tommy grows between each time I see him. How early can babies learn to walk and talk? I don't think I'd be surprised if he could do one or the other by the time I see him next."

"Peeta the kid can't sit upright unsupported, somebody has to hold him" I point out. "He can't crawl, much less  _walk_. I think you're putting too much pressure on the poor kid."

Peeta laughs, a pleasant kind of laugh I don't get to hear often enough.

"Yeah I know you're right. It's still fascinating, don't you think? So much development in just a few short months of life. A few months ago he couldn't hold his head up on his own or roll over. Now he can sit up with a little help and you saw the way he moved the rattle from one hand to the other. I think it's neat."

I come close to telling him he was born to be an uncle, the comment feeling so right and so natural, but I stop myself at the last second because I realize it wasn't an  _uncle_  he was born to be.

"Your mother seems very fond of him" I say instead, a bit of a peace offering from my earlier remark.

"She is. I think she enjoys being a grandmother more than motherhood because she doesn't have to feel the responsibility that Tommy is fed and clothed and all that."

I can barely resist rolling my eyes. Since the baby has turned six months and can't get by on just breast milk any more Ryean and Maggie have become very interested in stopping by for a meal once a week. It doesn't take a big leap to surmise that they're probably hoping we can help feed them and their child without having to ask us outright. I respect that. I'm not overly fond of having them over but it's usually just for an hour or two and Peeta lights up at their visits.

The snow begins to fall more heavily as we make our way towards the Victors' Village. The flakes become larger and Peeta refers to it as "snowing mittens", a merchant expression I've heard from my mother on occasion but never really understood. The sky is less dark now that snow is falling and when we draw near the Village I stop to admire the beauty of the snowfall in the light from the lampposts. Peeta stops as well and leans his head back, drawing a deep breath.

"I love the first snow" he says.

"Why?" I question. Snow means cold and difficulty finding food.

"It's so beautiful. The air seems fresher. Before the snow comes everything is so dark and dreary. Snow lights things up."

I nod slowly, acknowledging that he has a point. A small smile comes over my face. I do remember when Prim and I were little and we used to love sitting by the window and watching the snow fall. When I was too young and too innocent to understand the true hardships of life the first snowfall did evoke a happy feeling in me too.

Spontaneously I open my mouth to try and catch the large snowflakes, just like my sister and I used to do back when we were comparatively care-free and our father would take us outside to enjoy the snow. Peeta chuckles when he sees what I'm doing but it's a pleasant, friendly sound and I don't mind it. We continue to walk a bit further but stop beneath the light from the lamppost.

"There's something special about the first snow" he says. "Admit it."

"It's not so bad" I smile.

Large flakes have caught in his blonde curls and the sight fascinates me. I reach up and brush some of it away but moments later new flakes have taken their place. Peeta smiles at me, snowflakes stuck on his eyelashes even. On their own accord my fingers move from his hair down his cheeks, brushing faintly at the corners of his mouth. I try to remember the last time I felt this much at peace. We haven't been this relaxed in each other's company since the wedding and in this moment I realize how much I've missed him.

When I lean closer and kiss him it feels only natural. His lips are a bit chilly from the outdoor temperature but at the same time there's a warmth there. He seems calm and composed, participating in the kiss but not pushing it any further than I am, letting me take the lead. I pull back slightly and look into his eyes. Then I kiss him again and to my own surprise I find myself prodding at him to open his mouth to me. When he does something stirs inside of me. That hunger which I've only felt once before, in the cave in the arena.

I don't know if it's the setting or if it's the fact that this is our first ever kiss without an audience, the first kiss that is only for us, but there's a pleasant stirring feeling deep down in my belly and a kind of hunger I've never felt before rises in me. It spreads throughout my whole body, making me warm even though it's cold outside. Without noticing how it really happened I'm suddenly wrapped in Peeta's arms, my own arms pressing him close, my right hand tangling in his hair. Every time our lips part I fill my lungs with air and go in for another kiss. Just one more. Always at least one more. I can't seem to get enough. I don't ever want it to stop.

When it does stop it's Peeta who puts an end to it. He leans his head back, his Adams apple bobbing when he swallows, and even though our lips have parted long enough for me to be able to come to my senses I'm not the least bit uncomfortable standing so close with him like this. In fact I want to be even closer, if that's at all possible.

"We're going to get frostbite if we stay out here" says Peeta finally, a small smile on his lips. "Come. Let's go home."

Hand in hand we walk the rest of the way home in silence. Once we are indoors there's an awkward moment when neither one of us seems to know what to do now. We take off our coats, boots, hats and gloves without speaking or looking at each other and then Peeta walks up the stairs to our bedroom. I feel nervous and excited all at once as I bite my bottom lip and then follow. I have a vague idea what this might be leading up to. It's something that has to happen at some point and maybe it's best if it happens like this, without me having time to overthink or prepare myself too much. Besides, the kissing felt so great that I want to try it again and see if it still feels that way. Whatever happens after that, I'm sure I will be in safe hands with Peeta.

We've barely reached our bedroom before we're kissing again and it feels just as good this time. Somehow we end up on the bed, Peeta lying half on top of me, our hands roaming as our mouths lock together. I can't believe something we've done so often can feel so much different when there are no eyes watching us. Maybe I haven't really allowed myself to experience Peeta before now, too preoccupied in playing the role of lovesick girl.

When he pulls away and lifts himself up on his elbow I expect him to start undressing me, or maybe take his own clothes off. I have little more than a basic understanding of sex but I expect Peeta to know better than I do what is about to happen and to guide me through it. Instead he just looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes and I begin to feel uncomfortable. I squirm a little under his gaze.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"No" he says, breathing heavily. "Nothing's wrong. It's time to stop, though."

Stop? I lift myself up on my elbows and frown so deeply that I'm almost squinting. I thought we were just getting started.

"Why should we stop?" I ask. "Shouldn't we…" I'm too bashful and inexperienced to put words to the desire that's been growing in me.

"I desire you" he says, as casually as if he was telling me he considers us friends. "This is about as much as I can handle in one evening and still being able to…" He pauses before he can finish the sentence, then continues with a slightly regretful tone. "This can't end in sex and it will be way too difficult to abstain if we keep at it for much longer."

"You're overthinking" I say, eager to get back to kissing. "Whatever happens let's just let it happen." I lay back down and caress his cheek with one hand. "It will be fine."

"No" he protests. "Nothing has changed. Not really. I'm loving this, what we've been doing tonight, but…"

"But what? We're supposed to have sex at some point. If it happens tonight then what's the problem?"

"I'm not sure what's different with you tonight" he says, looking at me in a way that's both loving and disappointed. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's quite lovely, but still… Whatever it is, it's not  _love_. And I can't sleep with you without that."

"Peeta for crying out loud" I groan. Since when is he that much of a romantic? "What does it matter? I want this, whatever this is. Wasn't that the problem before? That I wasn't sure if I wanted it?" I take his face between my palms and look him deep in the eyes. "It's not going to be rape. It's my choice. If it does go that far tonight, which it doesn't even have to."

"It's not just about that."

"Then what?" I ask, growing increasingly frustrated.

"It's difficult enough living with you and feeling this way about you, knowing that it's unrequited. If we have sex it's not going to mean to you what it means to me and that would hurt too much, Katniss."

Yet again Peeta has managed to throw me a reminder of his undying love for me when I don't have the first idea how to respond to it. Realizing I'm not going to get any further with him tonight I let my arms fall back down and I let out a groan. There's a hunger in me tonight that I need to have satiated and right now I'm angry with Peeta for making me feel this way and then refusing to see it through till its end. I'm sick and tired of everything related to his supposed undying love for me and how it only seems to restrain him, not make him bolder or more eager. He's so different in that regard from Gale, who would go after what he wants if he saw the slightest chance of getting it. Peeta's way of retreating frustrates me to no end sometimes.

"You need to let that stuff go, Peeta" I say. "I'm serious. I'm sick of having this discussion over and over. We both know that sooner or later we have to have sex."

"Yeah we're just a couple of prostitutes" sighs Peeta with irritation, flopping down next to me on the bed.

"I didn't mean it like that" I say, highly uncomfortable with that characterisation. "Will it really be so terrible?"

He looks at me for almost a full minute before he answers.

"No, I don't think it will be terrible. It just won't be what it ought to be. It will be one more lie. Do you think it's easy for me to have the  _illusion_  of all the things I wanted, knowing it will never be more than that? I'd rather not be in your life at all than have everything between us be fake."

"It's not" I argue softly.

"Of course it is." He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the ceiling. "I know you saved our lives in the arena but you don't know how often I wish you would have let me die instead."

The fear that grips my heart when he says that almost makes it difficult to breathe. I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. Despite how difficult things have been I cannot imagine my life without him. How would I handle being a mentor, being a victor at Snow's mercy, or even just living my day to day life without him? Nobody truly understands those aspects of my life except for him. What's more, I've really begun to appreciate his diplomatic outlook on the troubles we face and I feel like he grounds me and offers me viewpoints that aren't founded in anger and frustration. Then there's the simple fact of what a genuinely good person he is, and how he deserves to live more than most victors. The thought that he might not always  _want_  to live terrifies me.

"I can't imagine having to deal with the nightmares and the… emotional mess… without you" I say.

"Of course you can. You did absolutely fine until the Victory Tour."

"I wasn't fine" I object.

"You were fine enough. Look, I'm not saying I'm ungrateful to you because I'm not. It's just hard to ignore that everyone I care about would have been better off if I had died."

"Peeta…" I begin, shocked that he would think that.

"Never mind" he cuts me off. He sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed. "Ignore me, I'm just… rambling. The point is that I'm not okay with any kind of sexual arrangement under the circumstances so let's agree not to venture too close to anything like that."

"I don't see what the problem is" I say, oddly feeling more at ease discussing this than the possibly much heavier topic Peeta brought up moments ago. "I like what we were doing five minutes ago. I won't mind taking it further. Isn't that enough?"

"Of course it isn't." He gets off the bed and walks towards the dresser to grab a t-shirt to sleep in. "Attraction is not the same thing as having genuine feelings for someone. I've been attracted to the girls I've slept with but I wasn't in love with them."

"Oh…"

A strange emotion fills me. I had no idea Peeta wasn't a virgin. I've sometimes wondered but I've never come around to ask. If he was a virgin that would help explain why he's so reluctant to have sex with me since he would be probably as nervous as I can be about it. It really bothers me to think that he's been with other girls. Kissed them, touched them, done things with them that he refuses to do with me. That other girls have gotten to feel his naked skin on theirs when I am denied that. It's crazy but it hurts to realize I wasn't his first kiss and I won't be his first sexual partner.

"Anyway…" says Peeta, stopping by the door to the bathroom. He gives me a crooked smile. "Tonight was lovely. I just think we're both better off remembering what is real and what is not."

He goes inside the bathroom to change and get ready for bed but I barely hear him or notice that he leaves the room. My mind is too wrapped up in the thought of him with other girls.

These girls he's slept with, was he with them before the 74th games? He certainly made himself out to be a romantically shy boy who had only ever had eyes for me during his interview with Caesar. But if he hadn't slept with those girls at that point then he did it sometime in-between the Games and our wedding. That is even worse. I cannot imagine that he would take advantage of his popularity as a victor to get somebody into bed but the other alternative doesn't add up either.

He comes out of the bathroom dressed in his pyjama pants and a t-shirt and stops by the bed. It takes me a moment to realize he's waiting for me to get off it so he can pull the bedspread off and get underneath the covers. Reluctantly I scoot off the bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth, my mind going a mile a minute around these not-so-pleasant queries.

Once my teeth are brushed I pull my shirt over my head and then I pause. I can't help but wonder – how would he react if I were to walk out there buck naked? The temptation of finding out is almost strong enough that I decide to go through with it but then I suddenly feel very shy at the thought of being naked in front of him. Without further ado I slip into my pyjamas and head back out.

I get into bed beside him and wonder what we'll do from this point. Kiss goodnight? Awkwardly tell each other to sleep well? I look over at Peeta and he is smiling at me, calm and relaxed, and I can't help but return his smile. After all, I made quite a lot of headway today. If I can get this far with him I can undoubtedly get further.

I fall asleep lying close beside him, thinking about the way his kisses made me feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The expression "snowing mittens" is an expression we use in Sweden (well, we say snowing "lapphandskar", sami mittens... not all too far-fetched actually when you take a look at them http://www.wornthrough.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Lovikka-v%C3%A4ntar-Nordiska.jpg). I don't know why I included all that pointless trivia, except that I personally love when it's "snowing mittens".


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another brief update, sorry.

Downstairs in the common room a group of six or seven mentors are lounging on the large sofas by the screen tuned to the main feed. Among them are Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta together with Coral Strong, another District 4 mentor. Two of the mentors are from District 5 and to my dismay Ajax is there as well. He leers at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"Did you untie your better half yet, Mrs. Mellark?" he asks.

I don't bother to dignify his comment with an answer. I look up at the screen which is currently showing the girl from Eleven reaching a supply station. Good for her but I begrudge her every drop of water and every bite of food, especially if the station won't be restocked or will take more than a day to do so.

"Did you catch the action?" asks Spark, one of the mentors from Five.

"If by action you mean the death of a fourteen year-old girl then no" I reply coldly.

"You missed some really creepy shit." Spark shudders as he thinks about it. "She came across a wall that had this image of a weird woman with snakes for hair carved into it."

"I heard, she touched it" I say, really not needing details. I'll have to see it on rerun tonight anyway.

"It was really gross" offers Coral. "The carved snakes came to life and all of them bit her." She shudders. "I hate snakes."

"Bet the Capitol audience ate it up, though" I say.

Finnick Odair takes his eyes off the screen and looks at me. He's sitting in-between his district friends with his arms stretched out on the back of the couch, as if to be able to wrap them around both women if he should feel like it. Sometimes he really feels like a big creep, even though I have to admit he's quite friendly.

"How's Peeta holding up?" he asks.

"You know Peeta" I answer vaguely, shrugging a shoulder.

"If he's feeling tense you should bring him down here with you…" says Ajax, making the rather innocent remark sound sordid.

"Shut up, Ajax" says Finnick, looking at me intently. "And how are you holding up?"

I feel a sudden lump in my throat and I can't give an answer other than to shrug my shoulder again. Without saying anything else I leave them behind and head for District 12's conference room, ready to sigh with relief when the door slides open and feeling a tiny bit better when it slides shut behind me. I long for Peeta. I want to be back upstairs with him, holding him, being held by him, crying against his shoulder. Only there's no way I'm going back out to the group on the sofa so all of that will have to wait.

I take a seat by the table and turn the screen on. It's tuned on Sally who isn't doing anything of particular interest. She's moving about and I want to believe she is looking for a supply station. She takes out her water canteen and it sounds alarmingly empty when she shakes it. She will need water, and some actual food.

If only she had a mentor capable of brining her sponsors.

Not that she's helping me much in there. She hasn't done anything noteworthy so far and I'm worried that people might be starting to forget about her already. For a brief second I feel envious of Finnick Odair who, during the rare occasions when one of his career tributes isn't bringing in sponsorship on their own, only needs to go out and charm – and bed – some Capitol moron to get the money. Even if I thought I was capable of such a move I'm not convinced I would be able to be charming enough and I would have to bring Peeta and make it a threesome. Definitely more trouble than it would be worth. Plus there's no way I'd agree to letting anybody else but me touch him sexually, tribute in dire need of sponsorship or not. Peeta is mine and mine alone. Too many aspects of our lives belongs to the public but the physical touch does not.

After watching Sally for about an hour with nothing of interest happening I switch over to Tommy's feed. He is kneeling on the ground, having found a part of the arena where the floor is made of something that looks like clay or mud. Whatever it is he is gathering it in his hands and smearing it all over his face any other body part that is visible. I smile to myself, feeling a bit better. He's not as talented as Peeta was in our arena but the basic idea of camouflage is definitely smart.

I switch back over to Sally, leaning back in my chair and crossing my fingers for her. She's going to need a lot more than that but at the time being she'll have to fend for herself. I hope she is lucky enough to stumble across a supply station soon or that she'll find some way of being noticeable so that she will attract sponsors. I can tell it won't be many hours before she'll grow desperate in her need for food and water.

 

 

About half an hour before dinner time I give up on watching Sally and make my way towards the elevators. She hasn't found a supply station yet and she's running low on both food and water. I remember my own first days in the arena and how I came close to dying from dehydration. It's a suffering I will never forget and one of the things I hate the most to see my tributes go through. We lost a tribute once to dehydration and I couldn't bear to watch it, leaving it up to Peeta and Haymitch to handle the situation. Not even the pair of them could charm enough money out of sponsors to send water to the tribute. The whole thing was a complete nightmare. When we got back home we were given angry glares from relatives of the poor child for months on end even though we had done everything we could. Grief doesn't make people think in rational manners.

The penthouse seems empty when I step off the elevator. I walk to the sitting room and note that the screen is turned off, meaning that Peeta definitely isn't around. In all likelihood he went out to woo sponsors but that doesn't account for where Haymitch is. It's unlikely that they would both go and leave Tommy unobserved.

Barely keeping in a groan I take a seat on the edge of the divan end of the couch. I close my eyes and rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Today has been a good day by Hunger Games standards and still it's been awful. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that my nephew is in that vile labyrinth and that he might be dead any moment. I cannot even imagine what his parents are feeling, what any tribute's parents are feeling. I am so glad Peeta and I never had children of our own.

I startle when I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders but it's just Peeta taking a seat behind me. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn't hear him coming in. He begins to massage my shoulders and I let out that groan, leaning my head backwards, feeling just the tiniest bit better under his ministrations.

Until that reminds me of other ministrations we will have to get to eventually.

"Where have you been?" I ask, moving off the couch and away from Peeta's hands.

"On the phone with my brother" sighs Peeta.

"They allowed you to make a phone call?" I say, surprised by this break from the norm.

"On camera, naturally" he replies dryly. "Not that I was allowed to tell Ryean that we were being recorded. Magnus practically came in his pants listening to the dramatic conversation between two brothers, one of which is trying to save the other's son." He says the last bit like Caesar would deliver it on air.

"I'm guessing it wasn't a pleasant conversation" I say awkwardly.

"To say that my brother is on edge would be putting it mildly." With a sigh he gets up from the couch as well. "Maggie was crying in the background once she figured out who he was talking to. Not that we had much of a conversation. It was basically fifteen minutes of my brother scolding me for not doing enough for his little boy." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know what he expects from me! I can't wipe out all other tributes at my will and I can't send a hovercraft to pick him up alive and bring him back. I'm doing everything I can but my hands are pretty damn tied."

"I know" I say softly. "Ryean knows that, too."

"I'm not so sure he does" mutters Peeta.

"He knows" I assure him.

We begin to walk towards the dining room and I hook my arm with his.

"Any goodwill he's currently feeling towards us is going to go straight to hell once that recording airs" Peeta points out.

I cringe. I didn't think of that.

"He'll understand" I say, knowing it's very unlikely that he will.

Peeta scoffs.

"Yeah, because understanding is one of the strengths in our family. He's going to be mad as hell and my mother is going to disown me or something."

"Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing."

"Katniss please."

We reach the table and pull out our chairs to have a seat. The stylists are already there, debating something fabric related that doesn't interest me, but neither Haymitch nor Emalda have shown up yet. I hope they won't be too long or I will insist that we start eating without them.

"I hope the food will be here soon" I say, mostly to make conversation.

"It will get here" answers Peeta tiredly. "I'm more concerned about the food situation inside the arena. It's not like they can eat harmonicas or band-aids."

That thought manages to take away the rather healthy appetite I had only a few moments ago. Then prospect of having to find sponsors to send food and water to Sally makes my headache worse. I find myself feeling relieved that I won't have to do the same for Tommy, that he is Peeta's and Haymitch's responsibility.

The clicking sound of heels announces that Emalda has arrived but I barely look at her as she pulls out her chair to sit. She snaps her fingers at one of the avoxes and seconds later plates of food are being carried to the table.

"What about Haymitch?" I ask.

"He won't be joining us tonight" says Emalda, reaching out to grab an artichoke from a plate that's passing her by. "Dining with some of the other mentors downstairs." She gives Peeta and me a pointed look. "Wouldn't kill the pair of you to do some networking. Neither one of you has managed to be very helpful so far this year."

I snort and don't bother dignifying that with an answer. Peeta just glares at his plate and pushes the food around with his fork. He barely ate breakfast, probably skipped lunch and has got to eat now. He owes it to Tommy to keep his strength up. I give him a pointed look and nod towards his plate but he ignores me and starts half-heartedly mashing the potatoes with his fork.

"So, just the one death so far today" says Sally's stylist, in a tone that suggests making conversation. "Think that will be excitement enough?"

"Seems like the way that girl bit it would suffice" mutters Peeta.

"This arena makes no goddamned sense" I say.

"Not to us perhaps but clearly to the game makers" Peeta replies.

Silence falls around the table as nobody seems to be in the mood for pleasantries. I finish my meal but keep glancing over at Peeta, noticing how few bites make it from the plate to his mouth. By the time I've finished my dinner he's only had five bites of his.

"Not hungry for potatoes and fish stew?" I ask carefully.

"I had a big lunch, I'm full."

"No you didn't and no you're not."

I want to cringe inside, realizing I sound more like his mother than his wife right now, but he's really starting to worry me. He rises from the table, leans over and grabs an apple from the large fruit bowl that serves as dessert plate and takes a bite from it. Then he heads towards the sitting room and I sigh loudly, tossing my cutlery on my plate and leaning back in my chair. Right now I could punch Ryean for chewing him out over the phone like that. I know I could never imagine the stress my brother-in-law is under at the moment but taking it out on Peeta, one of the few people who could actually help Tommy, is just unfair.

Deciding I'm done at the table too I get up and walk slowly towards the sitting room. I can't make up my mind if I want to stay here and keep him company or if I ought to go downstairs and check up on Sally. Stopping in the doorway I lean against the doorpost and look at my husband, sitting on the couch facing the screen which means his back is turned to me. He looks so tense. I want to stay here with him. The evening broadcast will begin in forty-five minutes anyway so there's not much point going downstairs to check on Sally.

I walk over to the couch and take a seat, keeping a foot or two of space between Peeta and myself. A look at the screen tells me Tommy is down on the ground resting with his back leaning against the wall. He looks hungry but otherwise okay.

Peeta looks at me and silently hands me the remote. I try to hide my surprise as I take it and quickly press the right buttons to change to Sally's feed. She's sitting in a pose mirroring Tommy's, breathing slowly through her mouth, holding her water bottle in her hand. She turns it upside down and no water falls out. She's going to get dehydrated very soon. I wish I knew the temperature inside the arena but without a sun in the sky it's difficult to tell. Maybe Caesar and Claudius will tell us in the broadcast, as an exciting detail of the horrific conditions inside the labyrinth.

"Does Tommy have water left?" I ask, switching back to his channel.

"Yeah. Though not all that much."

"Is that really the kind of excitement they're going for?" I ask. "Watching children dehydrate to death?"

"Oh they'll find some way of making sure enough of them get water before that happens" says Peeta in an emotionless tone. "They could make it rain from the ceiling, no doubt. They don't want them to die this way, they want them to suffer this way. It makes for compelling television, apparently."

The thought makes me weary to my bones and I sink back on the couch, feeling like I never want to get up from here ever again. I just want to fall asleep here and not wake up until the Games are over.

Peeta watches our nephew on the screen, saying nothing for almost five minutes. I wait for him to be the next to speak, hope for him to talk to me like he usually does. For more than fifteen years we've stood by each other and carried one another through, leaning on each other through the worst times. Why he is shying away from me now I don't understand.

"He looks so young, doesn't he?" Peeta finally says.

"He is young" I answer carefully.

"Yeah but… I was beginning to think of him as a young man in the making, you know? Now all I can see is the ten year-old who…" He stops and shakes his head, as if the memories are too painful. "And how does my brother feel through all of this? I could barely hold a conversation with him today. I can't stop thinking, what is he going to do, what is he going to say if we come back home without his child?"

"Peeta he knows you're doing all you can for Tommy" I say. I reach out my hand and let the tip of my fingers gently play with his hair. "If the worst should happen he will grieve, just like you and I will, and he might even be angry with us for a while but you are brothers. He won't turn his back."

"Brothers doesn't amount to much compared to father and child" argues Peeta. "You know he would have rather seen me in the arena ten times over than seeing one of his kids in there once." He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, a dark look coming over his face. "Same as how I chose to risk his child being in the arena over having a child of my own who would be tribute."

A surprised frown comes over my face and I open my mouth to prod this particular thought but Haymitch's voice interrupts me before I can even begin.

"Switch to the buffoon feed, will you boy?"

Peeta and I both turn our heads and watch Haymitch stroll inside the room, looking like he desperately wants a drink.

"That's not on yet" answers Peeta finally.

"Both our tributes are currently busy resting, with no other tributes near them" says Haymitch, taking a seat in-between us on the couch. "Caesar or Claudius might have something interesting to say about the rest of the field before the actual evening broadcast begins."

Peeta obliges and switches to the commentators' feed. It doesn't amount to anything of interest, as there's only been one thing of interest so far today and they're saving that replay for the main broadcast. Peeta, Haymitch and I all sit in silence watching and waiting for the actual show to start.

I begin to feel thirsty, and wonder to myself how Sally and Tommy are feeling.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of history behind it. Most of it I wrote quite a while ago (or, well, the frame part of most of it) whie I was brainstorming ideas with myself. I later decided I didn't want to use it but kept it around because I usually save "deleted scenes" for a while. Then as I was working on this particular stretch of the story I was having writer's block and then go the idea of reworking this particular discarded idea because it could actually fit with where I wanted to go.  
> Still with me? =) Here's the finished product, anyhow.

 

 

 

 

It's early morning the day after Peeta and I kissed heavily on the bed. I woke up before Peeta did and had to use the bathroom. By the time I got back out he had woken up too and was getting dressed. It made things a little awkward, like neither one of us was sure how to proceed from that point. So we said nothing and went downstairs to have breakfast.

It feels like something important should have changed between us after last night. Like we should have grown closer despite the fact that it didn't end the way I had wanted it to. Peeta doesn't act distant towards me but he's not especially affectionate either. I wonder if I could get that to change, if perhaps we could kiss again and his hands could touch me the way they did last night, or if we're back to status quo.

I have a strong desire to stay home today and see what will unfold between us but I have a previous engagement that I don't think I can get out of. I finish my breakfast before Peeta has even gotten started at his and while I brew us a pot of tea I try to figure out how to bring my plans for the day up without making things awkward.

I hesitate, slowly sitting down on a chair by the table. I set my tea mug down on the table but keep my hands wrapped around it, enjoying the warmth that radiates from it.

"I was… thinking about going to the woods" I say. "A week ago Gale saw a whole herd of deer who seem to be passing through these parts."

"Deer travel in herds?" asks Peeta, barely looking up from his breakfast.

"I don't… know for sure" I answer. "These were in a group at least. Does with calves. About five or six adult animals. They might have moved on by now but if we're lucky they're still around. If we manage to fell one of them, even just one of the calves, we'll have meat on the table for a long time. We'd be able to sell the parts we can't consume for ourselves. Gale and his family could both feed themselves and buy whatever supplies they might need."

Peeta nods, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal porridge in his mouth.

"We might be out all day" I continue hesitantly. "Gale can kill a deer on his own but he can't bring it back to town. Provided that we even find them, that is." I'm almost rambling at this point, feeling apologetic, wondering how much Peeta really minds. "Even once we've gotten to town it's going to take quite a while to get everything taken care of. So I'll be with Gale for several hours today."

"Katniss I don't mind that you spend all day alone with Gale" says Peeta, rising from his seat and bringing his now empty bowl over to the sink.

"You don't?"

He pauses, then begins to fill up the sink with hot water to clean up after breakfast.

"It's not my place to mind" he finally says. "I won't deny that I feel jealous that you would rather be with him all day than with me but I know I don't have a  _right_  to feel that way. And I know I'm not the easiest person to be around these days. Besides, you love being out in the woods and I'm not comfortable going out there. Asking you to stay home isn't going to change the fact that you  _want_  to be out there with him. So I don't mind, Katniss. I don't want to be any more of a hindrance to you than I already am. I'll sleep beside you tonight and that's enough for me."

I take my hands off the teacup and stand up, taking a small step in his direction. His back is turned to me and he's busy washing his bowl and spoon. His shoulders seem tense and he keeps his face turned towards the dishes, avoiding to look at me.

"I'm sorry" he says tensely. "I shouldn't have said any of that."

"You do have a right to mind" I say gently. "I'm your wife."

"In name only. In reality we're something else entirely." He actually gives me a brief glance and it's enough to tell me not to get too close, that he needs a bit of space right now. "Honestly Katniss I'm glad that you and Gale still have a good time together. I would hate to have ruined that for you, too."

I stare at him with slight bewilderment. What am I supposed to say to that? Why is he acting so strange? I feel like I'm getting rather mixed messages from him at this point and I don't like it. Let's face it, I can barely read the writing on the wall, much less decipher what's written between the lines.

But if he doesn't care that I spend all day with Gale then by all means I won't feel guilty that I do.

"Let's hope for deer on the table tonight, then" I say.

He nods but keeps his eyes focused on the dishes. I sigh and head up the stairs to brush my teeth and get dressed for a day out in the woods.

 

 

 

 

"We're never going to find the damn things" I huff and puff a few hours later. I'm hunched on the ground trying to find any traces of tracks, the position quite uncomfortable. "That many deer would make plenty of tracks in the new snow and we've seen nothing so far."

"What's the rush, Catnip?" asks Gale, coming up to stand beside me, a hearty grin on his face and his cheeks flushing in the brisk winter air. "The chase is half the fun."

"This isn't a chase" I mutter, rising to my feet. "It's several hours of walking around aimlessly hoping to stagger upon a flock of animals that most likely made it to District 4 by now."

"So?" asks Gale with a smile. "This is what we do, Catnip. You and me, out here, all by ourselves. It doesn't really matter if we find the deer or not."

"Oh yeah?" I snort. I wonder if he'll stand by that statement if he comes home this afternoon with no meat and has to see the look on Posy's face when she realizes she's not getting the dinner she was hoping for.

"Is everything alright?" asks Gale. "You've been on edge all morning."

"I'm just trying to find the damn animals so we can lock down a couple of weeks, maybe  _months_ , worth of meat on the table."

"You're awfully sweet to be that invested" he replies with a raised eyebrow.

"It's the deal, is it not? If you had lived in the Victor's Village and I was still in the Seam you would be just as eager to get this done as I am now."

"If I lived in the Victor's Village I would have made sure you came to live there with me a long time ago."

I turn my face away, trying my best not to show how irritated his comment makes me. I wish he would stop already with the insinuations. I used to find it frustrating when Peeta alluded to his feelings for me but now I miss that and having Gale do the alluding these days doesn't make anything any better. He needs to let go of the future we were never supposed to have.

He sees my scowl and frowns.

"Seriously Katniss, you seem really tense today."

"Well there's not a lot of tension relief around my house these days" I mutter, more to myself than to Gale. Before he can pick up on what I'm actually referring to and get upset I stalk off towards a nearby tree that looks like it would be easy to climb. "I'm going to get some altitude, see if I can spot the herd."

"Want me to hold your bag for you?"

I don't answer, grabbing a hold of a branch. With a huff I begin my climb, hoping that I will be able to see the animals once I get higher up in the tree. If we came out here all for nothing that's definitely not going to make my day any better.

 

 

 

 

I wake up feeling groggy, unsure of where I am and what has happened. My eyelids feel heavy and when I move my head it feels heavy too. I register faint beeping sounds and soft cotton sheets against my skin. Slowly I open my eyes and try to adjust them to the dim lighting in the room.

It takes a moment to become aware of where I am. I'm in a hospital room, a small one. At first I wonder if I've been taken to the Capitol but the quality, size and design of the room definitely doesn't suggest Capitol luxury. I must be in Twelve still. District 12 does have a hospital, albeit a very small one. It's there to tend to the medical needs of peacekeepers and one or two government officials and, apparently, Hunger Games victors. Madge was born in this hospital. I've never been inside it before but from what I've heard there are only three patient rooms and nobody on permanent staff. The three doctors and three nurses are called in only when there's need for them to be here. They spend the rest of their time in the Capitol, working at a more glamorous hospital. Hovercrafts transport them to the district when they are needed, though one doctor and one nurse always stays on location in case of emergencies. Every month they switch.

The beeping comes from a monitor beside the bed that shows my blood pressure, saturation and pulse as well as some other things I have no clue about. The window blinders are down, a small gap in them letting a bit of sunlight in. I can see dust twirling around in the air through the patch of light.

There's a small armchair by the window. Peeta is curled up on it, asleep in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. I smile and feel a sense of relief. He's here. Whatever has happened at least I'm not alone. His green shirt is wrinkly and his hair is a mess, curls standing out in every direction. The dim lighting makes it hard to tell if there are any bags under his eyes but he doesn't seem to have been getting much rest as there's a worried wrinkle on his forehead as he sleeps.

As I begin to become more awake I also begin to feel a pounding headache among other uncomfortable aches. Carefully I lift my left hand to my head and feel a bandage. I also notice that two IV catheters are in my left arm, both attached to IV bags with unknown content. I wish my mother was here to explain to me what is going on and what they have done to me. Not that I'm not used to waking up in hospital rooms after unknown treatments, having unknown substances pumped into my veins. At least this time Peeta is there with me, and probably has been there for some time to watch over me.

Slowly I move my hand back down to the mattress. Using both hands as leverage I gradually manage to scoot further up the bed and sit myself up a little. The activity hurts and causes the machine by the bed to start beeping more loudly as my pulse has gone up to 112 beats per minute and my blood pressure has gone up a bit as well.

The beeping wakes Peeta and after only half a second of being groggy he's fully alert and ready to act on whatever problem has arisen. When he sees that I'm awake and moving he gets up from his chair and hurries over to my bedside as fast as his legs can carry him.

"Easy" he says. "Easy… Don't strain yourself."

His cool hand lands on my forehead and it feels nice. I offer him a weak smile that does nothing to wipe away the worried frown on his face.

"Hey…" I say in a hoarse voice.

"You need to stay still" says Peeta worriedly.

The simple act of moving in the bed has made me tired so I do as he asks and allow myself to sink back against the mattress. A glance at the machine tells me that my pulse has gone below a hundred and the beeping goes back to the faint sound it made before.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

"Gale says you slipped and fell while you were climbing a tree." I frown as I try to remember, while Peeta continues. "You hit the back of your head, not to mention cracked a rib."

"I don't feel any pain in my ribs" I object.

"Maybe not yet because of the morphling, but trust me, it doesn't get really bad until a few days after." His hand gently strokes my brow and I find myself feeling strangely unconcerned. "You were knocked out for a while and Gale carried you back to town. They went pretty crazy on him for having dared to move you when the extent of your injuries had not yet been assessed." He says the last bit in what I can only imagine is an imitation of whatever medical professional worked on me. "They were concerned you had inner injuries."

"All that from falling from a tree?"

"You were pretty high up."

He sounds so worried that I can't help but smile a little. I reach up my hand and take his in mine, wishing I could find the words to tell him how much it comforts me that he is here. I realize I want his presence in a time like this more than I want my mother or sister.

"They're making an awful big fuss over me" I manage to say.

"Can't have anything bad happen to one of Snow's prized possessions" mutters Peeta in response, low enough that any hidden microphones won't be able to pick it up.

"How long have I been out?" I ask. "Where is Prim? My mother?"

"You came to at one point, they tell me" answers Peeta. "They put you back to sleep so they could prod and poke and x-ray and whatever else it is they like to do. You weren't entirely compliant and they were worried you might have hurt your back." The worried frown on his face smoothens out a touch. "Your mother and sister arrived here with me. Your mother is talking to the doctor and I sent Prim home to get some of your things. They want to keep you for a day or two for observation and pain management. I figured you'd be more comfortable with your own clothes."

"But you stayed" I say.

"Of course I stayed."

I'm still feeling very groggy and I'm vaguely aware that part of the pleasant feeling coursing through me is thanks to the drugs but all the same I find I don't mind this moment one bit. Peeta's hand in mine, his eyes locked with mine, the concern and affection written on his face… If only I wasn't so sleepy. I want to stay in this moment a while longer.

"I'm a bit tired" I say.

"I figure."

"Is it okay if I take a nap?"

He nods.

"Go ahead and rest. You need it."

"Will you still be here when I wake up?"

"Of course I will."

He presses a kiss to my forehead and I sigh contently, closing my eyes. My head falls a little to the right, brushing against my hand that is still holding Peeta's. I feel the thumb of his other hand gently brush my brow. His closeness, the morphling and the steady beeping of the machines soon lulls me back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hush!" commands Peeta's voice in a whispering tone. "You might wake her up."

Confused I open my eyes slightly. My head still hurts and it feels so much better keeping them closed but I can't figure out what is happening around me right now. I fell asleep but something woke me up. Or someone, judging by Peeta's comment.

Through my barely opened eyelids I can make out the shapes of two people standing in the room, seemingly leaning back against the wall. Peeta and somebody else. Gale, it seems. I let my eyes close again. Hopefully I can go back to sleep. I'm exhausted and this headache is really draining.

"You're lucky, you know" I hear Gale say in a low voice. "The Hunger Games turned out to be lucky for you. You have her now."

"Don't put it like that" objects Peeta, also in a low voice. "She's not my property and the only thing I ever wanted from her is her love, her heart. That I don't have, and no amount of Capitol pressure or forced marriages will give me that. Only Katniss herself can ever give me that and only on her own accord."

There's a moment of silence. I pray that I will fall asleep soon because this does not seem like a conversation meant for my ears, and it's definitely not one I want to be overhearing. But if I open my eyes now I will reveal that I've heard at least part of their conversation and I can't deal with the awkwardness of that right now. My only option is to pretend to still be sleeping and hopefully I will drift back into the darkness soon enough.

"I'm surprised actually" says Gale. "I thought she would have loved you by now. What's so frustrating about you is that you're so damn nice. I thought for sure she'd be won over by someone as likeable as you."

Peeta chuckles, but it doesn't sound happy.

"What does it matter if I'm nice? The heart wants what the heart wants. Hers does not want me. Simple as that." He's quiet for a moment. "Besides, I'm not such a nice guy. I'm a murderer. I killed people in the arena."

"That's not the same."

"I think Katniss would tell you I haven't been a very nice roommate to have."

"I think if you ask Katniss to pick a word that describes you it would be  _nice_."

"You're a nice person too. The way you fight for your family, work for them… How you look after Katniss when she needs it, and looked after Prim when we were in the arena… I don't know you very well but I know you're a nice person."

Gale laughs shortly.

"I guess then we can conclude that whatever Katniss' type is, it isn't  _nice guys_."

I almost can't stop myself from frowning. What the hell is  _that_  supposed to mean? Come to think of it, why are they having this conversation in this room, when there might be microphones or cameras hidden?

"The heart wants what the heart wants…" says Peeta again. "Niceness or lack thereof doesn't have to be a factor. Either way she's not in love with me. And truthfully… I think that is to our advantage."

Gale doesn't respond and unfortunately Peeta does not elaborate. My headache worsens as I try to figure out what he meant. How could that possibly be anything but a disadvantage? Does he know something I don't?

My head is pounding and I hear a buzzing sound soon followed by another morphling induced fog. I'm still working on deciphering Peeta's words as I sink back into oblivious sleep.

 

 

 

 

When I wake up again Peeta isn't there. Gale is, however. I frown and lift myself up a little, looking around the room to see if I can spot my husband. Where has he gone? Did they send him home to rest? Is he out getting something to eat? Was he simply not sincere when he said he would definitely be here when I woke up? And why is Gale here? Why not my mother or my sister?

When I move Gale takes notice and shifts his eyes from the beeping machines to me, leaning forward in his chair. His hand lands on my brow and there's a concerned look in his eyes but I don't feel the comfort and relief I did with Peeta. Instead I just feel irritation.

"Where's…" I begin, finding I have to hark my throat.

"Prim and your mother are on their way" Gale assures me. "They just went home to feed Lady and the cat."

"No" I said, shaking my head slightly and immediately wincing. "Where did…" I hark again. "Where did Peeta go?"

A displeased look passes over Gale's face.

"They took him to the office to speak to some Capitol hotshot."

"Why?"

"Who cares why?" snorts Gale. Then he softens. "You really had me worried, Catnip. Don't go falling out of trees like that, alright?"

"Works for me" I mutter. I look around the room again trying to find my bearings. Peeta went to make a phone call. When will he be back? I don't mind Gale being here in the meantime but I still haven't seen my mother, my sister or Haymitch. "What time is it?"

"It's a little past eight in the evening."

"I've been out for that long?" I say with disbelief, knowing I must have fallen sometime before noon. "That's… over eight hours…"

"Try somewhere around thirty. You fell _yesterday_. They've been keeping you pretty drugged up since then."

I try to let this information sink in, try to figure out a timeline of events. When I first woke up, that must have been during the night going by Peeta's rumpled clothes and the fact that he had fallen asleep. But when did his conversation with Gale take place? If it's Monday that means Gale has had to work and can't have been here all day.

"How are you feeling, Catnip?" asks Gale tenderly.

"Confused" I say. "My head hurts. My… my ribcage is starting to feel a bit sore too." I glance at him and wonder if perhaps I can prod him a little. I'm still wondering about the things I heard Peeta say before. "I had this strange dream… With you and Peeta…"

"Enough about Peeta" says Gale.

I frown.

"Sorry?"

"Forget about him. I'm here with you now. He's going to be back soon and you'll have to fall back into that twisted world of make-believe but for the moment it's just us. Just you and me, Katniss…"

"What do you have against Peeta being here?" I question.

"He doesn't belong here."

"How do you figure that?"

Gale looks away, his hands fidgeting on his lap, his jaw tightening.

"He's a nice guy but… Catnip I just can't stand this whole fake romance thing and how everyone seems to be buying into it. How he gets to play this important role in your life and it's all a damn charade." He casts a glance at me. "When you were unconscious your mother and your sister came and so did Peeta and Haymitch. The doctor came out and he called only on Peeta. Apparently they suddenly give a damn about consenting to medical treatment and they needed  _him_  to give an opinion."

"He is my husband" I say.

"Yeah, for show." Gale looks away again, shaking his head in anger and disbelief. His hands grip the armrests of the chair and his jaw clenches again. The worry and frustration he's been bottling up appears to be coming to the surface and it worries me. This is not the woods. This is not the right place to talk about how  _fake_  my marriage to Peeta is. We don't know who is listening. "You know what really gets to me?" he asks. "The fact that Peeta didn't even consult us. Me, your mother, your sister. The people closest to you, who know you the best. He should have asked what we thought was the right thing to do. What we thought you would have wanted. Instead he took it upon himself to make those decisions for you and that makes me furious."

"Gale" I say. "Peeta is included in the group of people who know me the best. He's my husband. It was his choice to make. When it comes to matters of life and death I don't think anybody knows what I would want better than Peeta does." Something Peeta said before comes to mind. Was it only just yesterday he said it? It seems like weeks ago. "You don't have a right to be jealous, Gale." He gives me a sharp look but I don't back down. "I get that it's tough on you but you have no right to feel possessive of me or deny him his legal rights. He is my husband. It's his right to speak for me when I can't, to sleep with me, to make medical decisions for me if I'm unable to. The law gives him that right and  _I_  give him that right because I trust him that much."

"I can't believe you're saying this to me."

"I can't believe I have to" I retort. "If you can't accept him as my husband and accept that you and I are only friends and will never be more than that then I don't think you and I can continue being friends."

There. Now it's been said. The room goes completely quiet and Gale looks at me with anger and betrayal and what I think is a breaking heart. Only I meant what I just said – he has no right to feel that way and no right to make me feel bad about my loyalty to Peeta. I can't make constant excuses for feeling close to my husband, for wanting to grow closer still, and I really shouldn't have to. Gale has had years now to grow accustomed and to accept the way things are. He's known for some time that I'm not in love with him and there's a part of me that thinks that if he does genuinely love me then he should be happy for me if I do fall in love with Peeta, the man I will live with for the rest of my days.

But Gale is not like that. Gale can't let go of the things he wants. He's far too used to having to fight desperately for everything that matters and he's never been one to give up. He wants me, wants to know he matters more to me than Peeta does. I can't give him that. And I can't keep being his best friend if he's going to be constantly jealous of Peeta.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks finally. "For me to just walk out of this room? For you and I to no longer be friends?"

"That is the  _last_  thing that I want" I say sincerely. "But Gale I can't have you in my life in this way if you can't accept the way things are. Peeta matters to me. He's family. I can't apologise to you for being close with him. It's not fair to ask me to."

"It's also not fair for you to keep jerking me around" he says.

"Excuse me?"

He groans, seems to be searching for the words he needs to say. His hand runs through his thick, dark hair, pulling at it slightly.

"I need to know that I matter to you, too, Catnip."

Before I can formulate an answer the door opens and Peeta steps inside. Gale makes a face and keeps his eyes away from him but I look over at him and feel a mixture of relief and frustration. He seems to pick up on having interrupted something and makes a movement as if to leave but I quickly speak up to stop him.

"Hey, there you are."

"Yeah I…" He looks from me to Gale. "Do you guys need a minute?"

"Are we allowed to have one?" asks Gale. I don't understand the hostility. They seemed amicable when I overheard them earlier.

"Of course but…" Peeta hesitates. "I need to speak with Katniss as soon as you are done talking."

Something in his voice sets me on alert. He just got off the phone with some Capitol hotshot. If he needs to talk that can't be good news. I look over at Gale who seems to realize the same thing. He sighs a little and nods his head. Then he rises from his chair and leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth.

"I should get home to my mother and the kids anyway" he says. "Come stop by me when you get out of here, okay Catnip?"

His hand brushes my cheek and with a pointed look he leaves, giving Peeta a slight nod as he passes him by. Peeta looks uncomfortable, though not necessarily from watching our interaction. When Gale has left he closes the door and walks over to me, sitting down on the bed and taking my hand.

"You feeling okay?"

"Feeling confused" I answer. "Gale told me you were talking to someone in the Capitol. What happened?"

He sighs heavily and avoids my eyes for a moment.

"President Snow would very much like to know how one of his delicate victors wound up falling from a tree and knocking herself unconscious when there are no trees within the district parameters tall enough to cause that…"

"… Unless you go outside the fences" I finish the sentence.

"Pretty much."

He sits in silence for a minute, letting go of my hand and placing both of his on his lap. He looks straight ahead which means looking away from me. I pull my legs up and sit up more, wrapping my arms around my knees. The movement hurts my ribs.

"Peeta just tell me. You were able to talk your way out of it, right?"

"We're wanted in the Capitol for the conclusion of the Victory Tour."

"Yeah, we were last year too."

"This time they want us to leave immediately, or, well, in about a week when you'll be fit to travel. Haymitch is to represent the district's victors when the tour passes here."

A chill runs down my spine.

"So what do they want with us in the Capitol?"

He looks at me, a troubled frown on his face.

"I don't know Katniss."

It can't be anything good, that much is for sure. Not if they want us to leave already. The Tour is more than a month away. Peeta looks so troubled and weary and I feel bad for doing this to him. He isn't voicing any blame but I wouldn't hold it against him if he felt any. I should have been more careful. I can't remember what happened exactly but no doubt my state of mind contributed to me being careless.

"So I guess we're going to the Capitol" I say.

He nods, his head hanging.

"Yeah I guess we are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medically speaking Katniss' situation doesn't make 100 % sense. For instance if she had blacked out for any longer stretch of time that would be cause for serious concern (which is why I threw in the sedation thing as a handy plot device).  
> Next time we follow this point in time they will be in the Capitol!


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

 

The scowl on my face goes hand in hand with my mood as I walk from the conference room towards the elevators. Another failed sponsor meeting, one more occasion where I've failed one of my tributes to add to my all too long list.

The process of procuring sponsors for the tributes is an intricate thing, much more so than I ever expected before I became a mentor myself. When I was young and saw the Games on TV I assumed that sponsors contacted the mentors if they were interested in giving something to a tribute and that the mentor could mingle with Capitol hoi polloi and try to convince them to spend money if nobody volunteered to do so. I wasn't wrong, but the system is far more complex than that. There are sponsorship "auctions" where investment groups, bored millionaires and occasionally even a representative of the government will donate a sum of money but it's up to the mentors to convince them to choose  _their_  tribute. I hate those arrangements. Usually they're loud and lead to petty fights and the money rarely goes to the tribute who most deserves it, but to the tribute whose mentor is the best at charming or manipulating the paying party. Finnick Odair used to be very good at this but Peeta isn't half bad at it either and there have been times when the two of them have engaged in what could best be described as verbal jousting. Some years it has basically just been a battle between the two of them but there are also times when neither one of them wins the sponsorship money even if they both have one or more tributes still alive in the game. Barley from District 9, who won the 88th Games, won a big sponsorship sum for his female tribute last year and with the gift he sent he managed to keep her alive until the second-to-last day, placing her third in the 90th Games.

Another way of procuring sponsorship for our tributes is by way of meetings set up by the gamemakers. After nearly a century of Hunger Games it seems that the Capitol viewers have finally begun to tire of how successful the career tributes usually are – I suppose it takes some of the fun out of it if you know that six of the tributes are by default more likely to win. Little by little the number of people who sponsor career tributes has gone down but those people haven't chosen to sponsor other tributes instead. A decline in sponsor gifts is not good for the show and the head gamemaker has gotten nervous about it. Starting four years ago they've implemented a system where they set up meetings for us mentors with possible sponsors. We have fifteen minutes at our disposal in our conference rooms where it's up to us to try and convince them to spend their money on our tribute. Predictably these meetings are almost always a waste of time. People don't want to sit in meetings and hear someone describe why they should throw their money away at some kid they might not even care about or remember the name of. The few who are convinced to open their wallets usually give far too small amounts for the mentor to be able to select a good gift.

These meetings anger and frustrate me to no end because I know walking in that unless the person sitting on the opposite side of the table has already made up their mind to sponsor someone from District 12 I won't be able to convince them. Our district rarely has tributes that people want to sponsor. Peeta's and my Games was something of a fluke, it seems.

Before my meeting today I sat in the conference room and watched Sally stumble through a corridor, desperately seeking a supply station. She's out of water and has very few crackers left. If she can't find a supply station, and right now she's nowhere near one, she will have to rely on me to provide food and water for her. I can't do that without sponsor money and I haven't been able to scrape up a single coin. I fervently wish that I could use my own money to buy her water and food but mentors are not permitted to buy gifts.

I'm alone in the elevator car as it makes its way up to the twelfth floor. I have another sponsor meeting in an hour but first I need to eat something. I could go to the dining room downstairs but I know it will most likely be full of mentors to the career tributes and I'm not at all in the mood to socialize with them. Collecting sponsorship money is still easy for them compared to the rest of us and I can't help but feel like a failure in their company.

I reach my floor and step out of the car, steering for the dining room. Haymitch and the two stylists are there, talking quietly while they make their way through today's lunch. We can usually order what we like for dinner but for lunch they make one dish and it's up to you if you want to eat it or go hungry. Today it's pasta swimming in some sort of creamy sauce full of vegetables. I pull out my chair and sit down, grabbing my plate and scooping up a large serving of food.

"Hungry?" comments Haymitch. He knows I always eat as much as I can when the Capitol is buying.

"I could use a hot meal to keep myself from hunting down the idiot who came up with these scheduled sponsorship meetings" I answer.

"We have ours this afternoon" says Haymitch, using a cotton napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth. "How are yours going so far?" I glare at him and he chuckles. "That well, huh?" He continues shuffling food in his mouth, talking while he chews. "Don't let it get to you, sweetheart. You know how it is. Those meetings are mostly just so the gamemakers can say they're  _trying_  to even the playing field. Nobody believes they will render much sponsorship money for undesirable districts."

I take a bite of the food. The sauce is rich and creamy and the vegetables add a lovely taste but the pasta is overcooked. I feel slightly ashamed of how accustomed I have gotten to splendid Capitol cuisine, finding a dish like this passable when before my Games I would have considered it a delicious luxury. I have come very far from the Seam brat I once was but not all changes are for the better. At the moment I can't help but think of Sally, who hasn't had anything to eat but crackers for two days now and who drank her last few mouthfuls of water twelve hours ago.

"I need that sponsorship money" I say. "Sally will die of dehydration soon."

"Is she close to any of the supply stations?" asks Sally's stylist.

"No."

I take another bite of pasta and wash it down with ice water, ignoring the carafe of wine right in front of me. As I set my glass down a sound catches my ear and I turn my head to see Peeta entering from the sitting room, looking haggard but fairly calm. He pulls out a chair next to me and takes a seat, putting only a little bit of food on his plate.

"I think we'll hear a canon soon" he says, absentmindedly placing his napkin on his lap. "The careers are getting closer to the boy from Eight."

"How's Tommy doing?" I ask.

"He's okay. His biggest problem at the moment seems to be finding a bathroom."

With no nature surrounding the tributes all those who survived the first day has been faced with the problem of where to relieve themselves. At the end of each corridor there's a small ditch they can use but finding said ditches is not always easy, though I suppose they can use their sense of smell to guide them. The sanitary conditions in the arena are getting worse by the day.

"How's Sally doing?" asks Peeta, taking a bite of pasta.

"Starving" I answer. "Dehydrated. In dire need of sponsorship."

"Any luck so far?"

I don't bother to answer that except to snort at him. He doesn't say anything further and we continue with our meal, the five of us eating in uncomfortable silence. I excuse myself as soon as I've scraped up the last off of my plate and I walk to our bedroom to freshen up a bit before my next sponsorship meeting.

Eyeing myself in the mirror I can't help but note what an unappealing sight I must be to the people I will be meeting with. I'm wearing no makeup and dark rings are visible underneath my eyes. I washed my hair this morning but something about the shampoo I used doesn't work for my hair and I can't seem to make it look nice. It just looks frizzled, like I haven't even tried brushing it. The rich Capitol people who are being more or less forced to come here for a meeting with me must find it very unappealing dealing with the likes of me begging them to spend money on a tribute they don't care about.

The bedroom door opens and I turn to glance at Peeta through the open bathroom door. I see him removing his pants and taking a seat on the bed, a bottle of ointment in his hand. Casting a final glance at myself in the mirror I decide I can't do much about my appearance and I turn off the lights in the bathroom and join Peeta in our main room.

"How's your leg?" I ask.

"It's okay" he says, though the scar tissue on his stump looks irritated. "What time is your next sponsor meeting?"

"In ten minutes" I say. With a sigh I sit down beside him. "Be thankful I'm not Tommy's mentor. I really,  _really_  stink at acquiring sponsors."

Rubbing his stump with a thoughtful expression on his face Peeta turns to look at me.

"She needs sponsorship pretty bad right now, doesn't she?"

"Well she's not going to survive without food or water" I reply dryly, feeling my frustration rise. "God, it's so unfair Peeta! They're throwing money on the damn career tributes but they are no better than Sally or Tommy, no more deserving. They're not all that interesting this year, either. The only one I found to be interesting at all fell on a damn firecracker and earned himself a cannon shot."

"Fairness has never been a staple of the Games."

"It's even more unfair that the tributes have to rely so heavily on their mentors to get a sponsor" I mutter.

Peeta looks at me with his brow furrowed. I know I should try and wipe the scowl off my face before going down to the meeting but I find some form of relief in ranting about it to my husband. He puts his prosthetic back in place and reaches for his pants.

"Katniss. Do you want me to take the meeting instead?"

I give him a confused look.

"What?"

"I know how much you hate those meetings and to be honest with you, the direr your tribute's need is the worse you get at charming people into forking money over." He stands up and buttons his pants. "We both know I'm better at it so if you want I can take the meeting."

"You would do that?" I ask with scepticism.

"She's my tribute as well, even though my focus is on Tommy" he says. "I can't just sit up here and have my eyes glued to my nephew when he's in no present danger and meanwhile let Sally die of thirst when I could have done something to prevent it. If you want me to handle the meeting I will."

I stand up and place my hands on his shoulders, softly kissing his lips.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet" he says. "I can't guarantee they'll give her money."

"No but you upped her chances by circa a million."

He raises an eyebrow at me in a teasing manner, then heads for the door.

"I should get going."

"Want me to keep an eye on Tommy for you?" I ask.

"No… Not unless you want to." He stops with his hand on the doorknob. "Haymitch has it under control and I've got my pager."

"Okay" I nod slowly.

He leaves and I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, filled with relief and gratitude.

 

 

 

 

Later that afternoon I'm perched on the couch watching the screen in lack of better things to do. Peeta won't be back upstairs until he's done with his sponsorship meetings and the ones that are scheduled for Tommy's benefit will probably go on until dinner. I'm not expecting to hear any news about how his meeting for Sally went until then but I'm very impatient to find out.

Currently I'm following the main feed, which shows the career pack stalking the boy from Eight. I find myself rooting for the poor kid, if for no other reason than for the sake of his mentors. They lost their girl yesterday – losing their boy today seems unnecessarily harsh. Unfortunately the poor kid is not yet aware that he's being stalked so the odds do not seem to be in his favour. The fact that the main feed is showing this chase is a good sign for us in Twelve. That means this is the most interesting development at the moment which in turn means that both our tributes are doing alright.

"We should herd him off into a tunnel" whispers the girl from Four, a smirk that I can only describe as sinister on her face.

"We could have a lot of fun with him at a dead end" replies the boy from One with a grin. "Heh, get it? Dead end!"

I snort and roll my eyes, disliking these creepers with every fibre of my being. I sincerely hope that the next mentor in our club won't be one of them. I hope they all die early on in the Games, for once, leaving the more likeable tributes to fight it out. I know it's very wrong of me to think of it in terms of who deserves to survive the most but I can't help feeling these kids don't deserve it at the slightest. Not as tributes, anyway.

I watch with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach as the boy from Eight finally becomes aware of his followers and attempts to get away. I know there's no use. They chase him into a corridor and just like they were hoping it is a dead end. Feeling sick to my stomach at what is about to happen next I grab the remote and switch to Sally's feed. I don't need to see the boy meet his demise on live television. I'll be forced to watch the replay several times and that is more than enough.

My jaw drops a little when Sally comes into view. She's holding a large canteen in her hands and is taking several deep gulps of water. A silver parachute is thrown over her shoulder and the hand that isn't holding the canteen has a small pouch that clearly isn't empty.

I feel so relieved I could almost cry. Peeta. The thought of him makes my heart swell with love and gratitude. Wonderful Peeta. He managed to get her sponsorship money and instead of wasting time talking to me he went ahead and sent her the things he knows I want her to have. Water, and perhaps even some food.

The smile vanishes from my face as the sound of a cannon fills the air. Sally freezes and then slowly sets the canteen down, screwing its lid back on. She shudders slightly and then places the canteen in her bag and gets moving. I wonder if she has any thoughts at all about who just died and who was responsible for it. I try to remember if I had any such thoughts during my own turn in the arena but all I can remember wondering about was whether or not it was Peeta. I strongly doubt that Sally is worried that Tommy might have been the one just killed.

Then I suddenly get an almost panicked feeling in my chest. How do I know that it isn't? Just because the careers are pursuing the boy from Eight that doesn't mean Tommy is safe. There might be another canon any minute signalling that more than one tribute has just been killed. With sweaty hands I grab the remote again and switch over to Tommy's feed.

He's alive and I exhale with relief. Then I begin to wonder what he's doing. He's crouched on the ground, at the moment holding completely still as if waiting to see if there will be more than one boom from the canons. Then he turns his face forward and begins to crawl in a catlike manner, his hands and feet being the only parts that touch ground, and at first I can't figure out what he's doing. Then there's a change in camera angles and I see that he's on a patch of floor that's divided into sections of squares, almost like tiles, each one with a different symbol on it. I can't make out what the symbols are and if it hadn't been for the death of another tribute only a minute or two ago I would have switched to Claudius and Caesar and hope that they would explain it to us. The other tribute's death, however, means that whatever Tommy is doing is most likely deemed uninteresting or at least less worthy of on-screen attention. I will have to wait until this evening's broadcast to find out what's really going on.

Tommy carefully observes the ground before making movements forward. Three times he places his hand somewhere and quickly retracts it. I watch him breathlessly for what feels like an hour but probably doesn't amount to more than a few minutes. Finally he reaches the end of the sectioned floor and quickly scrambles to his feet. Then a smile spreads across his face, a wide and beautiful one that reminds me of Peeta's, and another change in camera angles shows me the reason why he's so pleased. For the second time today I come close to crying with relief.

He's found a supply station.

Immediately he grabs a fruit from a bowl and shoves it into his mouth. I hold my breath for a second, praying that there's nothing inedible at that station but he seems to be fine. His eyes travel back and forth between various containers of food, fruits, nuts, crackers and four large bottles of water. He won't be able to bring it all with him but maybe he's thinking he doesn't have to. It could be that he can return here and get more supplies when he finishes whatever he takes now. On the other hand the gamemakers might simply destroy anything he doesn't take.

He opens a large rectangular metal canteen and I can almost smell the delicious dish I see inside. It's not the lamb stew I fancy so much but it's a similar dish they sometimes serve, made from pork and vegetables. Hastily Tommy grabs one of the large water bottles and turns it upside down, washing the dirt off his hands. When he deems them suitably clean he shoves them into the canteen, lifting up a fistful of rice and stew. I don't have to imagine how hungry he must be right now. Even so he only takes a small bite at first, waiting a couple of minutes to see if he'll have a bad reaction to it. When nothing bad happens he proceeds to scoop up more food and within five minutes has finished the entire dish.

With a grin on his face he opens his bag and surveys the selection in front of him. He grabs one of the water bottles but leaves the rest. Just as well. A litre of water weighs one kilo and the less weight he carries around the better. Though he does take the time to fill his canteen as well before being done with the water. He then grabs some beef jerky, some fruit and picks up two other canteens of unknown content. There's still at least five times that amount of food left but he won't be able to carry much else at the moment. Still he hesitates for a moment before nodding slightly to himself and turning back around.

Three seconds later he stops abruptly, nearly falling over. Probably around two thirds of the sections of the floor have disappeared, leaving a large chasm to cross and only a handful of pillar looking floor tiles to cross it on. He looks frightened and bewildered for a moment and takes a step back but when another tile slowly begins to sink he rushes forward and makes a short leap, landing rather wobbly on the nearest section. I sit up straight, covering my mouth with my hand. Is Peeta watching this? They must have paged him. He needs to not be sucking up to sponsors right now and to watch this.

Moving from one section to another Tommy slowly makes his way across the chasm, though it's clear that he doesn't have much time to get all the way across. Bile rises in my throat at the thought of how sick this all is. Make it difficult for a tribute to reach a supply station and then punish them when they succeed. It's right up the gamemakers' alley which means it's too sick for words. What is the entertainment here? Is it all in the suspense? Did they need to activate this just moments after another tribute died? Why not lure him into a false sense of security with the supply station and pull this on him the next time he comes back?

Not that it would help him in the end.

With a cry he leaps the last remaining stretch to the safe ground on the other side, falling heavily as he touches ground, curling up on his side for a moment. I worry that he's injured himself but he soon sits up and looks across the now wide chasm at the supply station still full of food and water. Within his sight but probably never within his reach again. A single tear falls down his cheek, drawing a line in the dirt he's smeared on his face as camouflage, but he says nothing. Then after a moment he takes his eyes off the unreachable station and looks inside his bag to check that everything made it across. It seems nothing got damaged but I wonder if he was ever tempted to simply toss the water and the canteens into the chasm to get rid of some of the extra weight.

On slightly wobbly legs he rises and turns his back to the supply station, heading off into the tunnel again.

 

 

 

 

When it's time for the evening broadcast everyone gathers in front of the large screen. A pair of avoxes place bowls of fruit and glasses of wine in front of us and I can see from the corner of my eye how Haymitch keeps sending his glass longing looks. So far he's kept his word and not had any alcohol during these Games, and he's not even very fond of wine, but it looks like the temptation is weighing heavily on him. Without a word I lean forward and grab his glass, emptying its contents into my own glass and Peeta's. I'm not so sure it's a good idea letting Peeta have a lot of alcohol since he didn't eat much at dinner today either but at least Peeta will have just the one buzz and then sleep it off.

Claudius and Caesar are at the top of their game when the broadcast starts, explaining to us all how marvellously exciting it has been to watch children die today. They spend the first five minutes merely talking about the thrill of the chase when the poor boy from Eight got killed. Then we get to see the footage of his final moments in all its uncut glory. The poor child finally met his end when the corridor he was in turned out to lead nowhere. The boy, age fourteen, curled up on the ground in front of the dirt wall and held up his arms as if to shield his face, begging for mercy the entire time. I always hate it when tributes do that, not because I begrudge them the right to react that way but because very much begrudge the careers the laughter and the joy they get from it.

It was the girl from Two who did him in, the others cheering her on the entire time. Emalda makes a sound like she's nearly gagging and empties half of the wine in her glass in just a few gulps. We then cut from the arena back to Claudius and Caesar who are laughing along with the careers and making comments as if this were a game of soccer and one of the teams just scored a really nice goal.

"This is not the only excitement we've had today, though" says Caesar. "Mere  _minutes_  after the dramatic scene we just saw, another tribute balanced on the edge of life or death. Literally! Let's take a look."

They haven't shown anything at all about Tommy on the main feed since the boy from Eight died, no doubt because Magnus wants to milk both happenings for all they are worth and with them happening back to back this was probably the more exciting way to go. Tommy's friends and family back home in Twelve have had no way of knowing if he's alright or not since they haven't gotten to see him at all. Usually each tribute is shown at least once per hour, even if only for a fleeting second, so that the viewers know what everyone in the arena is up to. I know the family back home are aware that even though they haven't gotten to see him he is still alive, because otherwise his death would have been shown. They do know, however, that something has happened since they've avoided showing him.

Now they broadcast Tommy's struggle to get to the supply station, his excitement at finding the food and water, and his dramatic retreat. They've cut it down a little bit but for the most part they show everything. Commentary from Caesar and Claudius is intercut with the footage from the arena. Caesar praises Tommy's ingenuity and gusto while Claudius calls him indecisive and clumsy. The bantering is a technique they use quite often to balance out the commentary. Magnus does not want them to praise a tribute too much nor talk them down too heavily.

"It's a good thing Tommy found a supply station" says Caesar when the clips of Tommy are finished. "His district partner has had nowhere near that same success. Lucky for her, sponsors came through. Let's relive that moment, shall we?"

I get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach and I glance over at Haymitch who is looking at me with a face similar to how I feel. Juxtaposing our two tributes this way is not very good for us. It paints Sally in a negative light as she is shown to be unable to provide for herself while Tommy most definitely earned his food and water today. It can also make people wonder why Peeta, Haymitch and I went to the trouble of getting sponsorship money for Sally but haven't sent anything to Tommy yet. Sally hasn't done all that much to draw attention to sponsors on her own so it must be obvious that we were the driving forces behind that parachute.

To make matters worse Claudius announces that they have some electrifying behind-the-scenes insight to the whole situation. We are then treated to audio of Peeta's conversation with Ryean the day before. Beside me I see Peeta closing his eyes and leaning his head back, swallowing hard. I feel my own heart pound in my chest as I hear the no doubt heavily edited phone call being broadcast to the entire nation. It's mostly Ryean accusing Peeta of being negligent and not taking care of his son. They really manage to make it sound like the two brothers are on the phone talking about what unfolded today, and not like it's something previously recorded.

Peeta doesn't stay to listen to the entire thing. He gets up and walks out of the room. I want to follow him but I can't seem to draw myself away from what I'm hearing. Ryean really sounds scared and angry and Maggie can be heard crying in the background. Peeta doesn't get to say much, just enough so that they can segue into other criticizing comments from his brother.

"Ryean is not going to be happy about this" mutters Haymitch under his breath. "Not that he was ever particularly jolly…"

"This is a disaster" I say, my voice a touch hoarse. "Even for them this is  _low_." I feel a lump in my throat. "They want to take our nephew away – do they really have to try so hard to alienate Peeta from his brother in the process?"

"If Tommy makes it to the final eight I really hope his father is suffering from laryngitis when it's time to shoot the interviews."

The reminder of the interviews sends another shudder through me. I can't not hope for those interviews to happen but the idea of seeing my brother-in-law go off on another bitter tangent against my husband makes me wish he didn't have vocal chords. Not to mention whatever acid Tommy's grandmother might spew. Under any other circumstances I wouldn't have worried about it since the interviews are supposed to be about the tributes and not their family members, even if they are mentors. As it is right now though the gamemakers will probably throw as much fuel on the fire as possible and try to weave some "exciting" story about brotherly betrayal. Snow would love a development like that, an opportunity to paint Peeta in a negative light.

I stay on the couch with Haymitch, Emalda and the stylists until the broadcast has reached its end. Haymitch takes the remote and switches to Sally's feed, showing her chewing on a piece of bread she must have gotten with the parachute. She looks run-down but a little less on edge now that she's got some water. Just the fact that she got a parachute to begin with has hopefully lifted her morale a bit. It's a comfort unlike anything you'll ever know outside the arena, having somebody send you a parachute. It's confirmation that there are people out there who are willing to get involved to help you live.

Haymitch switches over to Tommy, who has laid down on the ground with his bag for a pillow and pulled the blanket over himself. He looks exhausted. The ashen curls that are so similar to Peeta's seem damp with sweat or humidity and many of them are dark from mud. The ground he's lying on seems to be made of dirt, which won't make a mess but is probably really hard. I wonder how sore the tributes feel in the morning after spending their nights like that. I wonder if any of them except for the careers are able to relax. There's nowhere to hide or shield yourself. If somebody comes walking down the path you're in while you're sleeping then you probably won't wake up again.

 

 

 

 

When I retreat to our bedroom I'm surprised to find it empty. I just assumed Peeta went here but that was obviously wrong. I wonder where else he could be at this hour. The roof perhaps? Wherever he is I hope he comes back soon because it's getting late and I'm tired. I want to go to bed and lay in his arms.

I get through my bedtime routine and have just pulled the bedspread aside when the door opens and Peeta walks in. He looks about as tired and haggard as I would expect him to under current circumstances, his eyes bloodshot and his blonde curls sticking out in every direction as if he's been running his hand through his hair time and time again. My first assumption is that he's been downstairs to have a drink but he doesn't appear intoxicated when he mumbles a greeting and heads for the bathroom.

"Where were you?" I ask when he comes back out a few minutes later and pulls his shirt over his head.

"Went to the conference room."

I nod slightly.

"Tommy was sleeping, was he not?"

"Yeah." He reaches under his pillow and pulls out his pyjamas. "I wasn't expecting anything else. I just couldn't sit there and listen to that conversation being played for the entire country."

I don't know what to say to make him feel better so I say nothing. I'm sitting up on the bed with my knees bent, tired but not ready to try and go to sleep until he has climbed into bed. While he finishes changes into his pyjamas and fidgets with his prosthetic I run my hand up and down my bare leg, feeling the dark hairs that the Capitol seems to find so revolting.

"I'm being prepped on Friday" I say.

He freezes mid-motion and looks at me, a trace of horror written on his face. Surely he can't be taken aback by this. I didn't mean it as a surprising revelation, just as small talk before bed.

"I…" he begins. "Seriously, they're doing it this year too?"

"Of course they are" I snarl, irritated by his reaction.

He frowns and lifts the comforter so he can get underneath it. I follow his example and reach for the lamp on my nightstand.

"With everything else they're putting us through this year I thought they'd at least spare us that" he mumbles under his breath.

"Don't be naïve. The words  _empathy_  and  _sympathy_  and  _compassion_  don't exist in Capitol dictionaries. Seriously, I've looked it up."

"Come on, who would even expect that from us?" he asks, sounding upset. "It's too much! They're asking too much."

"If it can help our nephew I'm more than willing to do it" I say curtly. "It's not like we don't know the procedure back and forth and upside down. Just switch to autopilot." I roll my eyes and repeat a phrase the victors like to throw around sarcastically. "Lie back and think of Panem."

He snorts but doesn't offer any further comments. My desire to seek out his body underneath the covers has faded away. I roll over on my side, facing away from him, wondering how much more of this emotional rollercoaster we can take.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my last update for this story in 2014! I won't be online much in the upcoming two weeks, though I will check in on my tumblr and the comments via my phone when I get the chance.
> 
> I would like to be able to say that I'm leaving you with a great chapter but honestly this one was a bitch to write (as you can probably tell since I haven't updated in almost a month). I've lost count on the number of re-writes I've done and then just when I thought I was done I noticed a huge, gaping plot hole that I had to go back and fix and... Well, basically, I'm just happy to be done with it. Still, at least I was able to update once more before the end of the year =)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My ribs are still hurting quite a bit when we leave District 12, though it's much more manageable now than it was a few days after my fall. We travel by train and it's a slow, uneventful journey. Peeta is on edge about whatever awaits us in the Capitol, internalizing most of his discomfort but making it obvious to me by the way he keeps to himself and seems to fidget and be unable to sit still for more than five minutes at a time. For my own part, I am worried but also feeling strangely calm. I know there can't be good reasons for us to have been summoned to the Capitol early but there's something strangely relaxing about knowing that it's out of our hands now. Whatever Snow plans to do to us he's already planning, we can't change his mind or change his plans, so we might as well accept it.

When we arrive at the train station there's no crowd awaiting us, however when we reach the Training Centre there are a lot of people around. I feel uneasy going out into a crowd when my body is still hurting, worried they might push and pull us, and Peeta seems to read it on my face. When we step out of our car he wraps both arms around me and holds me protectively while we walk, both of us keeping our heads down as if that might help grant us anonymity. Thankfully it's a short walk and we're soon inside the building.

It's strange being here with no tributes, no victors and very few staff members. Effie is there to greet us but even she is somewhat subdued in her demeanour. She might not know any details of what Snow has planned for us but she knows that being summoned to the Capitol a few weeks early is never a good thing.

Our first evening back we sit quietly together, the three of us, having dinner. It's creepy to be just us three at the large table where we're used to seeing Haymitch, Cinna and Portia. I get the funny idea into my head that Effie might sit here and eat every day of the year, all by her lonesome except for during Hunger Games events. I know that's ludicrous and that she has her own flashy apartment somewhere in the Capitol but I realize I don't know much else about her. I don't even know if there's a Mr. Trinket.

"It's so lovely to have you here so soon" she says halfway through the meal, her voice forced and her smile far from genuine. "What a generous, generous surprise from President Snow!"

"Yeah he's a regular old Santa Clause" says Peeta dryly, though the reference goes over my head.

"Tone" admonishes Effie.

"Do you happen to know what's on our schedule?" asks Peeta, blowing lightly on his spoonful of soup before putting it in his mouth.

It's almost entertaining, watching Effie squirm as she is clearly not happy about not having that information.

"Nothing has been officially scheduled for you yet" she says at last.

"Guess they want to keep us on our toes" I say dryly.

"Who doesn't like a surprise?" adds Peeta in a tone that matches mine.

Effie looks like she's about to say something else, but quickly gives up. The rest of the meal is eaten in uncomfortable silence and once it's done Peeta and I retreat to our bedroom to try and get some rest. We'll need it for whatever Snow has in store for us.

 

 

 

A persistent knocking on the door wakes me up and groggily I lift my head from my pillow. I've got my hair plastered to my face and at some point during the night Peeta's arm has ended up wrapped across my back. The bed we share here is smaller than the one at home, the room made for one mentor not two, so we inevitably end up sleeping closer together. I hear Peeta mumble something and roll away, burying his face in his pillow.

"Is it Effie?" I ask, my voice a touch hoarse.

"Are you awake?" comes Effie's voice half a second later. "Are you decent?" She opens the door and carefully peeks inside. "Time to get up!"

"Is it another big, big day?" Peeta asks into his pillow.

If Effie picks up on his words, or his tone, she doesn't acknowledge it. Her usual cheerfulness has been replaced with sombreness and a touch of nervousness.

"President Snow wants to see you."

I sit up straight, feeling my pulse quickening. I look down at Peeta who shifts to his side and gives me a tense look. This can't be good, being summoned our very first morning in the Capitol. We had both figured he would either just keep tabs on us until the festivities or that he would let us fret for a few days before speaking to us.

"We'll be up in a minute, Effie" says Peeta, not breaking eye-contact with me.

"Portia and Cinna left some clothes for you to wear" says Effie in a tone that tries to be upbeat but can't mask her discomfort. "I'll have an avox bring them by while you're washing up."

"Cinna's here?" I ask.

"No, he and Portia are in their office in the south end of the city, working on your wardrobe for the big party!"

The fleeting hope of having Cinna here to support me almost makes me feel worse when it fades. It's very unsettling being here without Haymitch and the thought of Cinna being here to help was comforting. It seems though that Peeta and I have only Effie to look to and although I've come to realize she has more heart and depth than I used to believe she's still not a person to cling to in a difficult situation.

"How much time do we have to get ready?" asks Peeta, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Be dressed and ready to leave in thirty minutes" says Effie before giving us a smile that I think is meant to be encouraging but fails spectacularly. She closes the door and leaves us alone to shower and get dressed.

"What do you think Snow wants?" asks Peeta in a low voice.

"Nothing to our benefit" I answer.

He sighs heavily.

"Do you want to shower first, or should I?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't shower at all" I grumble. "Snow doesn't deserve our personal grooming. Besides, he reeks of roses. He won't be able to tell we're smelling like sweat and dirt."

"I'll go first then" sighs Peeta and scoots to the side of the bed. He wore his prosthetic to bed and gets up and heads for the bathroom.

"Mind if I brush my teeth while you're in the shower?"

He shrugs and I swing my legs over the side of the bed to stand up. Time to jump right in to whatever punishment the president has in mind for us.

 

 

 

I half expected them to make a big show of Peeta and me going to the palace to see the president. Instead we're taken to a room in the Training Centre, one I've never seen before, located down the hall from the mentors' dining area. It appears they don't want it to be public knowledge that Peeta and I are brought before the president like two naughty students being shown to the principal's office.

"How do you want to play this?" asks Peeta in a whisper so low I can barely hear him, as we're being lead to the room. "Do you want to play it honest or try to come up with a cover story?"

I don't have time to formulate an answer since a pair of peacekeepers open up the door ahead of us. In a quick move Peeta grabs my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, then we're being more or less shoved inside the room where President Snow waits for us. The doors close behind us and we're left alone with him, the pair of us standing frozen with pounding hearts.

Snow looks as calm as ever, standing with his back to us looking at what appears to be a collection of maps of previous arenas. The smell of blood and roses fill the chilly room, making me uncomfortable. Almost a full minute passes before the old man turns around and gives us a smile that is in no way friendly or inviting.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark" he says. "My favourite young lovebirds. Why don't you have a seat?"

He nods at a pair of green leather chairs standing by a desk. We oblige him and sit down while he remains standing. I'm reminded of the time he came to visit me in my first Victors' Village house before our Victory Tour, almost exactly three years ago. The same feeling of dread fills me now. In a way it's comforting to have Peeta here with me, to not be facing this alone, yet in another way I wish he wasn't here. We have our problems but this particular one is not his fault and he shouldn't have to be reprimanded or punished on my account.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Mellark?" asks Snow kindly, though naturally there's not an ounce of actual kindness behind the words.

"I'm fine" I say, my voice hoarse.

"Have you fully healed from your unfortunate fall?"

"Almost."

"You gave us all quite the scare when the news came" says Snow, walking over to the chair on the other side of the desk but remaining standing. "No doubt you scared your husband, too."

There's a moment of silence and Peeta harks his voice.

"It was distressing" he manages.

"You shouldn't frighten us that way" admonishes Snow, still in that kind tone that is so false it aggravates me. He pulls out his chair but doesn't sit down. "Once you make it out of the arena alive we prefer to keep you that way. I must say I'm a bit surprised at the accident you had. I wasn't aware District 12 had such tall trees. We must find these trees and have them cut down, lest you should fall again."

I fidget uncomfortably in my chair. Is that a veiled warning that they mean to cut down the entire forest? Can they actually do that? I'm tempted to look over at Peeta for some reassurance but for some reason I don't think that would be a good idea.

"I wasn't actually that high up in the tree" I say lamely, unable to think of something better to say to cover my tracks.

"Don't lie!" says Snow, his tone a touch harder but then it softens again. "The deal was we do not lie to each other."

"I was in the woods" I admit in a mumble, fidgeting even worse.

"I know you were."

"Let's cut to the chase" says Peeta, surprising me a bit. "How much trouble are we in here?"

The president's eyebrows go up and he gives Peeta an entertained look.

"Alright Mr. Mellark, if you are that impatient…" His eyes turn to me. "The fences in the district were switched back on the same evening you fell. They will remain on at all times. You can consider yourselves lucky – I do not wish to implement some severe punishment to your district that will only serve to alert your fellow Twelvians of your failure to behave, Mrs. Mellark. However do not think for a second that I will be as lenient if further transgressions occur. Rather you should be under the assumption that any new transgression will result in punishment for that incident as well as for this one. With interest. Now, during the remainder of your stay here we had planned to make sure the pair of you are occupied. Idle hands make for misbehaving victors, I have found. But, in light of your admission of guilt perhaps we should let you have a bit of… vacation instead. We shall also require the pleasure of your company, and that of your fellow mentor, for a little longer than just over the festivities. I suggest you enjoy said festivities as much as you can because you won't be home in time for the harvest festival."

I close my eyes for a second and swallow hard. I quickly open them again when all I see behind my closed eyelids is Gale and his mother and siblings, starving. With Gale unable to go hunt and me away from the district they'll have a hard time feeding themselves. Not only that, if Peeta, Haymitch and I are away from the district during the harvest festival the yearly "donation" from the Capitol will not happen. Each year a small, but still noticeable, handing out of food takes place during the festival, the Capitol's way of rewarding the district for having Hunger Games victors. With no victors in the district there will be no food given out. Many people will be looking forward to that meal, counting on it even, and now they'll have to do without.

"That will be all" Snow says to me with a self-satisfied glint in his eyes. Of course he's enjoying this. Without a word I rise from my seat but as Peeta does the same the president protests. "Not you, Mr. Mellark."

I share an alarmed look with Peeta. What is this about? What does he want with Peeta that he can't talk about with me in the room? Is he going to dish out further punishment on him for yet another thing that's entirely my fault?

I want to protest, to tell Snow that I will stay and Peeta can go, but the door behind me opens and a peacekeeper walks in and grabs me by the arm. I realize that protesting is futile so I give an apologetic look to Peeta, feeling a touch of fear in my heart. Oh how I wish Haymitch were here so I could talk to him when I get back to our quarters and perhaps get an idea what Snow might be wanting to talk to Peeta about. Instead all I can do is allow the peacekeeper to drag me out of the room and watch as Snow takes a seat opposite Peeta.

The peacekeeper escorts me to the elevator, holding me by the arm the entire time, and follows me into the car. He presses the button for me and then steps out, leaving me all alone. It's a short ride up to the penthouse floor but it feels like an eternity. Every second takes me further away from Peeta and I don't like it one bit. We're supposed to face Snow and his goons together, not by ourselves.

When the elevator reaches the twelfth floor I step out of the car and look around me, wondering what I should do to keep myself from fretting while I wait for Peeta to return. Mere seconds after I've arrived Effie comes walking in, a forced positive smile plastered on her face but it goes away when she sees that I'm alone.

"Peeta did not come with you?"

"No" I say.

Effie seems at war with herself for a few moments, as if unable to decide if she should throw a nervous fit, offer me comfort or pretend like everything is peachy keen. Then she seems to give up her inner battle, walks up to me and grabs my arm gently.

"Come" she says. "Let's go have breakfast. Breakfast always cheers you up, doesn't it?" Then she lowers her voice and finishes with a dry remark. "We can have our tea with a splash of white liquor, the way Haymitch prefers it."

 

 

 

 

We haven't finished our breakfast by the time Peeta returns. When I hear the sound of the elevator arriving I jump to my feet and toss my half-eaten piece of toast on the table, hurrying to see him. He looks pale and quite rattled and his smile when he sees me is even more forced than the ones Effie has been sporting since we arrived. A knot of dread forms in my stomach. Whatever the president had to say to him it cannot have been good.

"Breakfast?" I say weakly, knowing we need to act like everything is normal and that I can't ask him all the questions I want to ask when we don't know if we're being listened to.

"Sounds lovely" he says, his voice telling me he probably won't be able to eat a bite.

To my surprise me rests his hand on my waist as he comes up to me and presses a kiss to my brow. Then his hand leaves me and he walks towards the dining area, me in tow. He gives Effie a small nod and pulls out his chair to sit down. I take my seat beside him and try not to give him nervous looks as he absent-mindedly reaches for the large plate of scrambled eggs and scoops a spoonful or two over to his own plate.

"So," says Effie finally, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin, "what do you two lovebirds have planned for the day? A nice, romantic rooftop picnic perhaps? Or maybe spending the day on the couch watching old Games? They released a Top Ten series right after the Quarter Quell that is quite exciting! Top Ten kills, Top Ten victories, Top Ten sponsor gifts…" Even though her babble suggests that she's nervously rambling I feel abject horror at hearing her even suggest such a thing. "Perhaps you'd like to get massages? There's a wonderful spa facility on the main floor, mostly for us escorts and the stylists, but we do permit mentors from time to time."

"Actually I think I'm going to spend the way working on my talent" says Peeta, reaching for the carafe of milk.

There's an arts and crafts room in the basement for the victors who have chosen talents in that particular field, though hardly anyone ever uses it. Our first year as mentors it was the only thing that seemed to get any genuine excitement out of Peeta and I know he was hoping to check it out more closely but there hasn't been much time for it. Also a pair of District 6 mentors have more or less staked claim of it and seem to be using it mostly for finger painting, which I don't think bothers Peeta per se but the fact that they're quite loud while they "work" is a distraction.

"Katniss, what about you?" asks Effie.

"I… think I'll just stay here and rest" I mumble.

"A fine idea" nods Effie. "You're still recuperating from your accident."

I nod and reach for another slice of bacon even though I'm not hungry. Beside me Peeta chews mechanically on his scrambled eggs, washing it down with a gulp of milk here and there. I would very much like to have a moment alone with him to hear all about what Snow said to him but I can't figure out the proper time and place for us to have that conversation. I don't feel safe talking about it anywhere in this building and it's highly unlikely that they'll let us out without the escort of not only Effie but at least a handful of peacekeepers.

Peeta glances up at me and I guess my worry is written on my face because his hand comes up and lands on top of mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. I turn to him and we look at each other for a few seconds. He looks worried too but underneath that there's the familiar steadiness that seems to want to tell me that I shouldn't be too concerned, that somehow we'll find a way out of whatever Snow has cooked up for us now.

Effie begins to blabber again and the moment between us is gone. Peeta's hand leaves mine and reaches for a bread roll. He eats the rest of his breakfast in silence while I make a half-hearted attempt at communicating with Effie.

When he is done eating Peeta stands up and leans down to kiss the top of my head. His mouth ends up right by my ear.

"Just pretend everything's okay" he whispers. "We're being watched. We'll talk back in Twelve."

I nod, knowing there's no way we can talk here. Peeta leaves to go paint and I look over at Effie who has got her best fake-excitement look on her face.

"Well" she says. "How about us girls go have a nice pedicure? Goodness knows your feet could use one…"

 

 

 

 

The days go by so very slowly. President Snow holds true to his word and give us a  _vacation_ , meaning nothing on our schedule for days on end. There's nothing to do and nowhere to go except for the roof. Peeta and I head up there one afternoon but we've only been there for about half an hour before deciding that while it may be a lovely place around Games season it's definitely not as lovely during winter. The Capitol does not get heavy snowfall like our home district but it's only a few degrees above freezing and the rain that falls feels colder than snow. Shivering and shaking we hurry back down to our quarters where I call dibs on the shower and Peeta curls up on the couch, wrapped in at least three blankets.

The subject of Snow and his unpleasant plans hangs over our heads and becomes the elephant in the room. We know we can't talk about it but we also know we have to talk about it. The victory tour has finally begun so at least we know this will all come to an end fairly soon but Jade and her crew still have to travel through all the districts before coming here for the finale party. With each day my anxiety grows. We have been left alone by Snow after that first day and I'm concerned he's planning some unpleasant surprise for us at the party.

"Katniss, at least stop biting your nails" admonishes Effie one afternoon, five days before the tour reaches the Capitol. "Your prep team will cry blood when they see the state of your once so beautiful, delicate fingers!"

I only glare at her, tempted to remind her of how beautiful and delicate my fingers did  _not_  look when I got out of the arena. I keep quiet though. Effie is growing just as restless as we are and nervous, high-strung Effie is not a person I wish to get riled up further.

"I'm sure they can work magic with my nails" I say instead, trying my best to sound like I mean it.

"Even magicians needs something to work with" she replies in a polite yet also icy tone of voice.

I hear the elevator ring and turn my head in that direction, thankful that Peeta is back from the massage Effie insisted that he should get. When he comes walking in to the sitting room his face is pale and he's got the same kind of look in his eyes that he had after speaking to Snow in private. This makes me nervous and I sit up straight on the couch, leaning forward over the back of it to look at him.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Did you not enjoy your massage?" asks Effie, sounding incredulous.

"Not really, no."

"I thought Effie said massages were supposed to be relaxing" I frown, wondering to myself if he actually got one to begin with or if Snow had another private meeting with him. He most definitely doesn't look relaxed, as I assume one would after getting a massage.

He turns his eyes to me, looking unsettled.

"It was a full body massage. Literally."

"Well of course it was, dear" chuckles Effie. "What else would you expect?"

"I'm going to go take a shower" says Peeta without answering her further, giving me another look that seems to say his experience was anything but nice and relaxing.

"I don't know what's bothering him" says Effie as he walks off towards our room. "Everybody knows they are the best massages to get. You really ought to try one too, Katniss. I can book you in for one tomorrow morning. How's that?"

"You know, no thanks" I say, biting my nails again. "I'm not sure they're something a simple District 12 person would enjoy."

Effie sighs theatrically and gets up from her seat.

" _Why_  do they saddle me with the most  _boring_  district in the country?" she muses to herself as she walks off, presumably to book a massage for herself.

 

 

 

 

A few days later I'm so bored I'm actually considering watching the "Hunger Games Top Ten" series, telling myself that it could give me some useful tips for future mentoring. At least I know tomorrow the Victory Tour will reach the Capitol which means Peeta and I won't be the only victors in town, we will get to socialize at the parties – something that actually sounds tempting to me under current conditions – and once the party is over we will at least have Haymitch to keep us company until we return home.

President Snow continues to leave us alone for the most part and at this point I think he wants us here mainly to make sure we, or rather I, don't get into further mischief. With so much time on my hands I can't stop thinking about, and worrying about, Gale and his family back home. How are they feeding themselves? There's meat in Peeta's and my freezer box but I doubt he'd go knocking on my mother's door and ask for access to the food supply I share with the husband he doesn't really care to acknowledge.

Speaking of my husband, he spends most of his time in the arts and crafts room. Two days ago he finished a painting of a chipmunk on a tree branch, though the animal itself looked more like the cartoon version in our school books than the actual creature. Not that anyone in the Capitol would know the difference. The painting has already been put up on auction and from what Effie tells me people are bidding on it like crazy. Ostensibly the money will go to orphaned children. In actuality they'll go to the president's pockets.

I lounge around in the sitting room for an hour or two after breakfast, watching the clock tick and trying to force my mind not to worry about Gale and his family. Even more than that I try not to worry about my own family. If Snow made any veiled threats about them to Peeta, or direct ones for that matter, Peeta would have found a way to tell me by now. Still I'm no idiot and I know that my misadventures in the woods can't bode well for my mother and sister.

Suddenly I hear the elevator ring and I look up, hoping that it's not Effie coming to drag me off on another fun, fun afternoon of watching her order new clothes or getting our nails done. I smile with relief when I see Peeta. It's probably a good thing Effie isn't here because she'd throw a fit seeing that he's got stains of paint not only on his cheek but on his trousers as well. Personally I kind of like that look on him. It's something genuinely Peeta in the midst of all this Capitol veneer idiocy.

He comes walking up to me and looks around.

"This place is awfully quiet. Is Effie napping or something?"

"No she left to have lunch with the other escorts. Tradition on the day before the big party, apparently."

"Huh" says Peeta, walking around the couch and stopping right in front of me. "Somehow I've never pictured her… hanging out with people before."

"Can you imagine what it must  _sound_  like, all those escorts at one table?"

He chuckles and looks around again.

"No avoxes either?"

"No, not as it would seem."

"So we're all alone, then?"

"Yeah."

He gives me a crooked smile and there's something in his eyes I can't quite read. He sits down beside me, places his hand high up on my thigh and before I can react he leans in and kisses me. His lips stay pressed against mine, giving me no room to really react or question what he's doing, and I find I don't really want to either. It feels good to be kissed by him this way. I feel a familiar tingling in my belly and a warmth that spreads through my body. Before I know it he's manoeuvred me so that I'm lying on my back and he's on top of me, cradled between my legs, still kissing me. It passes through my mind that this is the oddest place imaginable for us to be doing this but I can't seem to focus my mind on anything other than the feel of him.

His lips leave my mouth and travel along my cheek down to my jawline and up to my ear. I feel his hot breath on my skin as he nuzzles his face into my hair, his mouth staying right by my ear. That's when I realize what he's doing.

"Sorry about this" he mumbles quietly. "Pretend like you enjoy what I'm doing. You can slap me later if you want to."

On a reflex I close my eyes, realizing I'm a better actress when you can't read anything in them, and I let my hands wander over his broad back.

"You're awfully frisky" I mumble in what I hope is a sexy kind of voice.

"There's no time to go into detail, and possibly not even the need to, but please Katniss, you  _have_  to stay out of the woods for a while now. I don't think Snow wants you to know this at all but I have to warn you." He moves his face and his lips sloppily make their way back to my mouth. I return his kiss, realizing that right now we're just kissing to uphold the façade, and after a few seconds he moves back to my ear. "If you displease him again he's going to have somebody other than me try and impregnate you. I think he enjoys the thought of you having a baby against your will and me having to help raise your kid by somebody else, passing it off as mine."

It feels like the blood freezes to ice in my veins. Peeta quickly moves his mouth back to mine to help conceal my reaction to his words. I don't have to wonder whether or not Snow means business with this particular threat. He's made similar ones before. Only this time it seems he doesn't want me to know about it and hopes I will walk into the trap.

"You okay?" asks Peeta gently, resting his brow against mine and gently brushing our noses together. "I'm sorry, are you not comfortable doing this out here? Do your ribs hurt? God, I'm crushing you, aren't I?"

I nod and then realize the correct response is probably to shake my head. I'm trembling and my hands are digging into Peeta's shoulders. I know he's wrapping up the act right now, that I'm supposed to pretend that what makes me uncomfortable is the thought of making out with my husband in a room where anyone can walk in on us, but I don't want him to move off of me just yet. His weight, his steadiness, his closeness, all of that helps ground me right now and I need it to lean on.

He lifts his head up and I open my eyes to look at him.

"I'm sorry" he says, apologising for more than the sake of keeping up our pretend situation.

"Don't be" I mumble.

He closes his eyes for a second and sighs. Then he lifts himself off of me and gives me a hand to help me sit up. I lean into him immediately and he wraps his arms around me, cradling me in his embrace. We sit like that until Effie arrives and, full of excitement, tells us we need to start getting ready for the big, big day tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

The party at Snow's mansion in honour of our latest victor Jade goes off without any dramatic events. President Snow and everyone close to him all but ignores Peeta and me, making us nothing but extras at the feast. Under normal circumstances we wouldn't mind one bit but in our current situation we're both on edge the whole night through, wondering if there's something unpleasant waiting for us at the next turn.

Instead nothing happens at all. We eat, we dance together, we mingle. We play our usual parts well, though not as well as we actually can. Both Peeta and I are a bit too unsettled to be able to pull the charade off perfectly. It rattles me a little that steady, reliable Peeta seems as unnerved as I am. He readily agrees when I suggest we draw back to a corner, kiss for a minute or two and then excuse ourselves to have some private time. It's a trick we've pulled one or two times since our wedding and it usually works like a charm, though both of us find it quite degrading. So long as it gets us away from the party I can accept it though and neither one of us could be more relieved when we leave the victory party two hours after dinner has been eaten.

When we return to our rooms in the Training Centre we head for the couch and spend the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets, drinking hot chocolate and making forced small talk about the party. We're both pretty high strung at this point and the endless boredom of being kept here is driving us both crazy. At least now we have Haymitch here to keep us company but the knowledge that the three of us will be stuck here a while longer and the people back home won't get any free food during the harvest feast makes it hard to feel happy.

The rest of our time in the Capitol my mind keeps being occupied by worries about my family, about Gale and his family, about the starving people back home and, increasingly, about my relationship to Peeta. I can't make sense of the twists and turns we're going through. We seem to be going from growing closer to awkwardness to back to normal over and over and over. Something about all of this just doesn't make any sense.

Together with Haymitch and Peeta I quietly count down the days until we are allowed to go back home. Finally we receive a letter from the president, telling Peeta and I to behave ourselves or pay the consequences. It also informs us that for the following four years all three of us will be spending the time between the Victory Party and the harvest feast here in the Capitol. It's hard to feel happy about getting to return to the district when you have that hanging over your head.

 

 

 

 

 

A mere few days after returning home boredom sets in again. I've been longing for my own house and my own surroundings the entire time we've been away but now that I can't go out into the woods, and I don't dare go to see Gale in case Snow will find out about it and fret, I seem to have an awful lot of time on my hands. That's not good because it makes me think about how starved people looked when we came back to the district and how guilty I feel about it. The thought of going to the Hob has passed through my mind several times but I don't know if I feel good about coming there without fresh meat when I'm the reason none of them got to have a meal on the Capitol's expense during the harvest feast, and won't be getting it for four more years.

Peeta spends a lot of time painting but unfortunately for me most of my pastimes involve being outdoors. I spend time with Prim and my mother whenever I can but they seem to be awfully busy treating frost bite and colds these days. At least the upside to that is that they are able to give their patients a hot meal, and sometimes send something edible home with them. Peeta bakes every morning to make sure they have bread to give away.

With a steaming hot mug in my hands I walk up the stairs in my house, wondering what I'm going to do to pass the time. I can hear faint sounds coming from Peeta's study and I smile slightly. The awkwardness has faded again and we're back to being friendly roommates, which is frustrating but at least acceptable to me. Perhaps I can convince him to abandon his paintings for a while and come spend time with me. We could play card games downstairs or read aloud to each other or, if he really wants to do something artistic, work on the plant book.

I almost stop to knock when I reach the door. I don't know if he feels like that room is his private sanctuary, like the woods are mine, or if I'm welcome in there. Since the door is slightly ajar I push it open with my foot and use the tips of my fingers to gently tap at the white wood to alert him of my presence.

He looks up from the canvas he's got laid out on the floor in front of him. There are dozens of blank canvases leaned up against the walls and all three of his easels are empty. It looks like the canvas on the floor is empty as well but he's holding a thick pencil so perhaps it's not. He seems surprised to see me, or just surprised in general at being interrupted. I wish I had another mug of tea to offer him but I don't know if he thinks drinking tea and working in here mixes.

"Hi" I say, feeling almost stupid all of a sudden.

"Hey" he says, blowing at a strand of blonde hair to move it from his eyes. "Did you need something?"

"No." I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I was just bored. Looking for some company."

"Is Prim not home? No one fun to hang out with at the Hob?"

"It's one o'clock on a school day" I point out. "And it's about twenty-five degrees below freezing out there. I'm bored but not so bored I'll venture outside if it's not entirely necessary."

"Oh." He laughs a little. "I was unaware, on both accounts. I guess I was so wrapped up in here that I failed to notice such details."

"What are you working on?" I ask, taking a few steps into the room, giving him the chance to ask me to stop if he doesn't want me to be there.

"Oh, nothing special really. Just something I had an idea for when I woke up this morning."

He rises from his spot on the floor, appearing to have some difficulties after kneeling for however long and having his prosthetic to deal with. He doesn't protest when I walk all the way up to him and after I've taken a sip of tea for myself I spontaneously hold out the mug to him. He takes it and blows on it carefully before taking a sip.

"Thanks" he says, handing it back. There's plenty of sugar in it, I realize, so he probably won't be wanting more.

My eyes go to the canvas on the floor. It's not empty at all I now realize, it's just that the lines he's sketched are too faint to be seen from the doorway. It's a very basic outline but it seems to be showing a girl with a long braid hanging down her back. She's seen from behind and her face is turned towards a window. It must be me he's sketched. I've seen paintings he's made of me before and I've never known quite what to feel about it.

I realize his eyes are on me and that I'm probably staring at his sketch. I offer a smile, hoping he doesn't think I dislike it.

"So you're bored?" he asks.

"Yeah…" My eyes return to the canvas. "But I won't bother you if you're working on something. I'll find something to do. I was just checking to see if you were bored also."

"You sure? We've had more than our share of boredom lately. The painting can wait if you want some company."

A thought suddenly comes to me and I put it to words before I can overthink it or chicken out.

"Can I watch you work?"

He looks surprised by the request. His hand reaches up and rubs the back of his neck and I wonder if people who paint don't like to be watched while they do it.

"Sure, I guess…" he answers. "But it will be really boring too, I can assure you. I've got to mix the paint first and that's going to take a while and it's nothing interesting to look at, at all."

"I don't mind."

"Okay…" he says sceptically. "If you want to."

I look around for somewhere to be where I won't get in his way. My eyes fall on a small armchair with some paint stains on it.

"Can I sit here?"

"Um, sure."

I take a seat, pulling my feet up under me. Peeta walks over to the large table where he keeps all kinds of paints, crayons, brushes, pencils and other tools. He seems to take a long time to study the different tubes of paint before he selects ten of them and puts them on a small tray. I frown a little and crane my neck to see better. From where I'm sitting it looks like two or three of the tubes are the exact same colour yet Peeta selected them all very carefully.

He walks over to the easel nearest to where I'm sitting and sets the tray down on a small table. Then he goes and picks up the canvas, placing it on the easel before sitting down in front of it. I watch as he then pulls the table with the tubes of paint closer and grabs a palate. He picks up a few of the tubes and squirts out small dabs of paint. With a very concentrated expression on his face he then grabs a set of small plastic spatulas and begins to mix the colours in different combinations. I'm guessing that he's trying to find the right nuance of colour or something like that but it all seems incomprehensible to me. He seems to know exactly what he wants it to look like but I can barely tell the difference between some of the paint dabs. They're all in varying shades of yellow, orange or white. Is he going to paint the sunlight coming through the window? Wouldn't it make more sense to paint a blue sky behind it first? It's never occurred to me before how little I know about painting.

If my presence bothers him he doesn't show it. In fact he seems to have forgotten that I'm even in the room. From where I'm sitting I have a good view of both him and the easel and when he turns his face to the table with the colours I see his features clearly. After a while I stop looking at the colours, understanding very little of what he's doing with them anyway, and focus my eyes on his face instead. There's something fascinating about the way his hair curls over his forehead and how blonde his eyebrows and eyelashes are. His eyes seem a different shade of blue in this lighting and the expression in them catches my interest. He looks different when he's focusing like this. There's something very handsome and captivating about his attention being fully on his work. I've rarely seen him this engrossed in something, to the point where he barely seems to know I'm there. He  _always_  seems to know when I'm in the room, even when he acts like he would rather be alone or when things are awkward between us. There's almost a bit of freedom in being here and not being the centre of his attention, while at the same time it makes me feel like I'm missing out on something.

Finally he seems satisfied with his mixture of colours and he takes another palette. My eyes leave his face and I watch in fascination as he picks out some of the tubes and, without the slightest hesitation, recreates the colours he's decided on in larger quantities. I haven't got the slightest idea how he's able to do that. It seemed like he spent so much time adding something to this dab of paint or that dab of paint.

I finish my tea and set the mug down carefully so I won't disturb him. I shift on the armchair and cross my arms over the armrest, resting my chin against my forearm. He continues to prepare the exact colours he wants without saying a word and I slowly become more and more mesmerized by the sight of him.

Out of nowhere I'm struck with the thought of what things would have been like if Peeta had died in the Hunger Games. Or even what life would have been like if we had chosen a different solution once the Games were over. We could have played up the angle of teenagers falling on love fast but falling out of love just as quickly. We could have faked an ugly break-up and distanced ourselves from each other. Most likely that would have gotten us into far more trouble than it would have been worth. My mind goes back to something Peeta said during the honeymoon. That he would rather let Snow kill him for refusing to impregnate me than father a child who would be doomed for the arena.

Just like the time Peeta actually said it the memory of his words, and how serious his face was when he said them, grabs my heart like a cold hand. I don't even want to think of what that would be like, living the rest of my life without him. The very thought of it is unbearable. I need him safe and sound and preferably close to me. If President Snow thought my affections for Peeta were entirely feigned then he misjudged me. I'm not sure I know what romantic love is or what it feels like but I know what it's like to not want to lose someone. And I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little bit about Peeta's massage is a combination of plot relevant and a pop culture reference I threw in to amuse myself. Way back when during season one of "Expedition: Robinson" (Swedish reality show that became "Survivor" in the US a year or two later) the guy who eventually won was at one point awarded a massage. Turned out to literally be a full body massage, which the media had a lot of fun with (hey, this is Sweden after all, a little bit of sexuality doesn't freak us out). Rest assured neither that guy nor Peeta found it as enjoyable as intended...
> 
> Other comments to make, well, let's see... The last scene kept getting moved back and forth between the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next "past time" one. It feels like it belongs here more, plot wise, but it also feels a little disjointed from the rest since it doesn't take place in the Capitol. Also I should probably mention that I can barely draw stick figures and the last time I "painted" it was probably paint-by-numbers or a coloring book. In other words I apologise to any actual painters if I wrote a completely unrealistic portrayal of the process (though I imagine it's different for every artist so that's my excuse for not doing better research ;) )
> 
> Last, but not least, I want to thank all of you for being with me for however many months this story has been going on. I solemly swear that there will be some better times ahead for Katniss and Peeta in 2015 (although also some really bad times... gotta live up to my title, after all).
> 
> See you all in 2015!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this fic is a year old today, so here's a new chapter to celebrate =)

 

 

It's even more difficult than usual to make my fake smile seem relaxed as I step inside the restaurant with Peeta two steps behind me. I'm dolled up in a dress that's very uncomfortable and far too revealing, with padding that pushes up my breasts and cleavage that reveals as much of them as possible. Adding to that the damn thing is such a slim fit I can only take small steps, not comfortable strides, which makes me a bit wobbly in my ridiculous heels. Adding to the discomfort is the hairdo my stylist arranged, which pulls my hair back so tight it's giving me a headache. Even under the best of circumstances this getup wouldn't be comfortable but during these Games the last thing I feel like doing is strutting around like some mannequin.

Peeta, far more comfortably dressed even though his shirt is starched to the point of preposterousness, stands right behind me with his palm against my bare back. We look around the room for a moment in search of the maître-d who will show us to our private dining room.

Private in this case meaning for Peeta, myself and another couple.

It's one of the "favours" we do for President Snow almost every year. Go out and wine and dine some rich, useless Capitol couple paying through the nose for a double-date with the star-crossed lovers. Paying Snow, of course. Peeta and I never see a dime of that money. Throughout the years these double-date dinners, which I thought would wane in popularity a few years after our marriage, have become a valuable commodity among Capitol lovers. Bless your marriage, celebrate your anniversary or highlight a milestone year by having an exclusive dinner with Katniss and Peeta Mellark at the finest restaurant in all the Capitol! Couples who are able to "book" us beam with pride and brag to their friends. Couples who can't afford it or who aren't affluent enough have only to grit their teeth and brim with envy. It's a bizarre world indeed.

Some years Snow wants to milk us for all we're worth and books date nights for us several times during our Capitol visits. Other years we only go out to dinner once and the lucky couple who dines with us has to pay that much more money for the pleasure of our company. The higher the price the more they can expect from the evening. Once the couple we were out with requested that we come back home with them and engage in a foursome. We drew the line at that and were unable to feel like we made the wrong choice even though Snow responded by keeping us in the city over the Harvest Feast. The one thing they cannot force us to do is have sex with other people.

Tonight we are in for a lesser demand evening. We have several dinners booked, four this week alone, and I have no doubt that the intention is to keep us away from the headquarters and away from any televisions. Restaurants do broadcast from the Games when somebody is killed or something else especially interesting happens but beyond that we have no idea what is going on. It's the kind of torture President Snow excels at.

Demeter, the maître-d, spots us and comes walking up. She has her usual robotic smile on her face and her seemingly dead eyes don't register any reaction to seeing us. I've sometimes wondered if all the people who work here are simply dead inside or if it's part of Capitol culture for people in service trades to behave that way. Like avoxes, only with tongues.

Demeter leads us to one of the private dining rooms and opens it for us, my fake smile widening a touch in a polite showing of gratitude. A thick smell of peonies rolls over us as soon as the door is opened and when we step inside it's clear to see that most of the smell is artificial as the flowers do adorn the corners of the room but in far from large enough numbers to produce a stench like this. I wonder how I will be able to eat a bite with this smell in my nose.

The room itself is not one of the fancier ones at the restaurant but all private dining rooms have some amount of "class". This one has pale pink walls, a wall that leads directly to a circular balcony with no door in-between, pale wooden furniture and lots and lots of flickering candles. Not exactly what I would call romantic but it's been well established over the years that my idea of romance differs somewhat from the Capitol's. I find it romantic when Peeta rubs my feet when we're taking a bath. These people find it romantic when flowers, candles and heavy scents are together in the same room.

On a loveseat on the right hand side of the room sit our dates for the evening. They look young, probably in their early twenties. I hope all they're looking for is dinner and not anything that involves too much physical contact. That would feel too strange when they are a decade younger than us, even though we've been through it before. The woman has what seems to be knee-length hair made up of blonde curls that I assume are not her natural hair. She's wearing a short red dress that shows off every curve of her voluptuous body and that matches the string of hearts she has tattooed from the tips of her fingers up to where the skin on her shoulders disappear underneath the fabric of her dress. Her husband has short-cut hair in the same colour as his wife's tattoos and wears a three-piece suit in the same colour as her hair. The oddity in how they match make the get-ups tasteless in my opinion but probably perfect in their own. Both of them immediately smile at us with teeth so white I am sure they use the same dental care people as Caesar Flickerman.

I hear Peeta swallow slightly beside me. His hand is still on the small of my back which reassures me a bit. Then his hand moves and snakes around my waist, pulling me a bit closer. I respond my moving one of my arms around his waist.

"You must be Solange and Duro" says Peeta.

The couple look at each other with a smile so lovesick it seems as fake as something Peeta and I might have done over the years. The woman, Solange, places her hand on her husband's and gives it a little tug.

"We're glad you agreed to join us for the evening" she says, eyes locked on Duro. "It's our three year anniversary and we just found out we're having a baby and there's just so much to celebrate!"

"Congratulations" says Peeta. When I don't say a word for several seconds the elbow of the arm he's got wrapped around me gives me a nudge.

"That's wonderful news" I hear myself saying.

The younger couple laugh and smile widely at each other and rub their noses together. Oh dear. It's going to be one of  _those_  evenings.

 

 

 

 

An hour and a half into dinner I'm beginning to think I won't make it through it without serious aggression issues. I'm very tightly strung right now, I know Peeta is too, and here we sit while our nephew and Sally are in the arena fighting for their lives. We're not allowed to wear our pagers to these things and I feel vulnerable and unable to have control without them. If Tommy or Sally are attacked by the careers, or by anyone or anything else for that matter, the pagers aren't going to be able to help us save their lives but sitting here all evening means we can't help them through other situations. What if they are hungry? Or thirsty? Or wounded? Haymitch can handle things, I'm sure, but I hate not being able to do anything. I hate sitting at a table in a private dining room together with an insipid young couple while our tributes, our  _nephew_ , are fighting in the arena.

Solange and Duro are either the worst pair we've been out with in a long while or they just seem that way because Peeta and I are both so stressed and want to get back to our living quarters. Duro keeps making bad jokes, most of them very lame puns, and I simply cannot fake a smile at each and every one of them. They happen virtually every time he opens his mouth! Solange apparently seems incapable of talking about anything other than her pregnancy, to the point that it's beyond just excitement from a first-time mother to be expecting her and her husband's love child and more along the lines of me wondering if she's simply incapable of containing more than one thought in her head at a time. She cannot have sparkling wine with us because she's  _pregnant_. She sends for the chef to discuss every single ingredient in her meal because she can't eat everything because she's  _pregnant_. She is so lucky she fits in her dress because she's  _pregnant_. She tells us all about how vivid her dreams are these days because she's  _pregnant_. It's a small miracle that she can handle the smell of Peeta's chicken and mashed cauliflower because she's  _pregnant_. The woman even waddles when she walks, and she's only five weeks along! I have absolutely no idea how Duro puts up with it but I speculate that the bad puns are a coping mechanism.

The food we ate was probably excellent. The food here usually is. Mine just doesn't taste very much with my mind so preoccupied with Tommy and Sally. Although Solange gives a detailed description of how her taste buds are that much more sensitive now because she's  _pregnant_  so by her description the food was lovely. Peeta and I rarely get to decide for ourselves what we want to have, usually our dinner dates take it upon themselves to order for us, and tonight was no different. I'm more than a little bit annoyed that Solange and Duro chose Peeta's meal and then she complained about how it affected her pregnant self but I know the chicken to be quite tasty here so at least my husband had a nice dinner. Unless he, like me, could barely feel the taste.

At the moment we are working our way through dessert. Lime flavoured panna cotta. I've always found panna cotta to be a bit too sweet and rich for my taste and the lime doesn't do much to neutralize it. I don't know how Mrs. Pregnant can gobble it down without getting nauseous but I wouldn't be surprised if she starts feeling sick in a few minutes and tells us all about how that's due to her being  _pregnant_. I know for a fact that the Capitol has medication that completely eliminates morning sickness so I don't see why she would have any reason to complain but I'm so sick and tired of her already that I'm getting myself frustrated over just the thought that she might.

I guess the one upside to these two Capitol buffoons is that they do a good job keeping the conversation going. I've barely said a word and Peeta is uncharacteristically quiet but they don't seem to notice. They seem to want to tell us the whole story of how they met, what their courtship was like, what the wedding was like, what their day-to-day life is like, what preparations they are making for the baby, since Solange is  _pregnant_  you know… Frustratingly enough that last part is actually more like the plans they have for making preparations since they only found out they were in this blessed condition about a week ago. Their love story is bland, at least in my eyes, and their lives typically Capitol shallow and meaningless. I cannot for the life of me take any interest in them. I can only hope my disinterest and irritation isn't written plainly on my face.

From the open balcony we begin to hear music being played by the string quartet in the outdoor seating area. Usually I find this kind of music soothing but I don't think anything can soothe me tonight. I can't stop thinking about how wrong it is that we sit here listening to music, eating a fancy meal, while Tommy and Sally are stuck in a filthy, dark, damp arena. As often as I dare to I steal a look with Peeta, comforted in knowing he feels the same way, if not worse than me. Again I find it lucky that our dates are such talkative people, despite the fact that most of what they say annoys me.

"Oh such lovely music!" gasps Solange, pressing a well-manicured hand to her chest. "Duro, I think I want a string quartet playing at the birth."

I can barely keep myself from rolling my eyes. In the districts women give birth in terrible pain in their own homes. In the Capitol women give birth at hospitals, with full pain relief and apparently with string quartets playing. I don't see why they would need them. Since they barely feel a thing it's not as if they need something to calm them down or help them find a bit of tranquillity.

"Katniss it really is such a shame that you've never gotten to experience the blessing of being pregnant" Solange suddenly says.

A quick glance at Peeta tells me he's close to fuming but he manages to keep his facial expressions mostly under control. He can't keep himself from commenting though, bringing up the lie he told so many years ago which we've had to repeat on occasion and which has become such a part of our apparent past that sometimes I almost wonder if it's actually the truth and I've just suppressed it.

"That's not really the case" says Peeta, reaching for my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We've had pregnancies. Just not successful ones."

"Sometimes I guess the bun doesn't fully bake, huh?" comments Duro, sounding a touch uncomfortable.

"Oh I'm sorry, I completely forgot how perilous pregnancy must be in an outline district" blabbers Solange as if miscarriages are an impossibility in the glorious Capitol. "I'm sorry. Let's not talk about it." She shoves her last bit of panna cotta into her mouth and swallows it in a loud gulp, letting her spoon drop to her plate. "How about a bit of dancing?" She turns to her husband. "You don't mind if another man steals me away to the dance floor, do you?" Her eyes then go to Peeta, completely ignoring me. "What do you say?"

It's not like he can refuse. He manages a polite smile and rises from his seat to go to what Solange apparently thinks of as a dance floor. Not that I don't see how it can be romantic to slow dance to live string music in this room but the presence of your actual spouses at the table probably dims the mood somewhat. Duro rises from his chair as well and walks around the table to stop beside me. I really don't want to indulge him in a dance but I can't very well refuse so I put my best fake smile on, take his offered hand and rise from my seat.

"Not much of a dancer" he tells me. "What do you say you and I move over to the loveseat and let our better halves take the dance floor? I trust Peeta won't sway her heart away from me."

I keep my fake smile on my lips and don't offer any comment to the wink he gives me along with his words. He leads me to the loveseat and sits down a little too close to me while Peeta attempts to hold Solange in the more formal dancing way but she immediately wraps her arms around him and goes for the kind of dancing that's basically two people embracing and slowly moving around in a circle together.

"I'm sure I can trust you not to spin me around too vigorously or anything" she twitters at him. "Pregnant woman like me might get lightheaded."

I can't keep the smile on my face. Not only do I strongly dislike other women dancing with Peeta this way but I don't think I can take another sentence about her damn pregnancy. Does she talk about anything else, ever? What did she talk about before she got pregnant? Does she even realize how insensitive it is to go on and on and on about it even after Peeta reminded her of our supposed miscarriages?

Duro leans in closer to me, the thick smell of his cologne filling my nose, making me wonder how his wife stomachs that without hurling in her current condition seeing as how the smallest thing is apparently enough to set her off. He puts his hand on my thigh, thankfully unable to touch my skin thanks to the tight dress I'm wearing, and then he begins to talk with his mouth a touch too close to my ear. I force myself to listen in case he says something I'm supposed to respond to but I try my best to keep an eye on the dancing pair. This is the kind of oddity I've never been able to understand about some Capitol people. To me marriage means exclusivity. To some of the couples we've been sent to dates with matrimony apparently is no hinder in flirting with another member of the opposite sex, touching them inappropriately and in some cases even going in for kisses with the implication that they would like to do much more than that. They do it openly, in front of each other, and seem to have no measure of jealousy. I could barely contain myself from lunging at the one woman maybe five or so years back who tried to stick her tongue down Peeta's throat. Thankfully he moved away from her and made it clear he was not willing to go that far with her but her husband didn't seem to mind the kiss. In fact he seemed turned on.

"So tell me everything about young Tommy" says Duro, his breath hot on my ear. "Solange and I are so very touched by your situation. What an honour and yet what a plight. Imagine if he were to win! A District 12 family of victors." I force another polite smile, trying to ignore the chill that runs down my spine. "Tell me what do you think his chances are?"

"I'm sorry, we're not allowed to discuss our tributes" I say. "We're not here as mentors so we cannot say anything that might sway you into sponsoring them." For once I'm thankful for that silly rule, having no desire whatsoever to tell this man anything about what you feel when a member of your family is in that arena.

Before Duro can respond his wife calls his name. We both look over at the dancing pair and I seethe inwardly at seeing her resting her cheek against Peeta's chest.

"Baby why don't you and I dance and let Peeta and Katniss take a moment of rest on the loveseat? His poor leg is troubling him."

Oh goodness, she even uses the pet name  _baby_  on him. Is that coincidental or did that sprout when she found out she was gravid?

"That sounds like a good idea. I could dance to that tune!"

With those words Duro takes his hand off my thigh and goes over to Solange and Peeta, Peeta taking a step aside so that the happily married parents-to-be can fall into each other's arms and sway together to the music. Peeta walks up to me and sits down, seemingly with no discomfort from his leg. He sits there quietly beside me, dutifully watching the others dance. Solange and Duro are both keeping their eyes on us, looking blissfully happy together in that sickeningly sweet way that seems to have something artificial about it.

"Look at them, baby" sighs Solange. "Don't you just know we will be that in love with each other still when we've been married for as long as they have?"

"It's like seeing ourselves in the future!" claims Duro.

"It is, isn't it?" She gives us another sweet smile, this time also with something suggestive to it. "It's alright if you want to express that love. We don't mind."

We know that cue very well. Many couples enjoy watching Peeta and I "expressing our love" as if no one else was in the room with us. I can accept having people watching us but I don't like the simulated feel of it. It's one thing to kiss and caress when we are alone but an entirely different thing altogether to do so in front of an audience.

It's a dance we know well, well enough to do it in our sleep probably, and I could probably switch to autopilot and just do our little performance until the audience is satisfied. Though tonight I find I actually welcome this a bit. The rift between Peeta and I lately hasn't led to much by way of kissing, touching and especially sex even though sex is usually one of our most common forms of stress relief during the Games. Feeling the backs of Peeta's fingers caress my cheek before he cradles my face between his hands and goes in for a kiss feels comforting and reassuring. As our lips meet I feel a touch of urgency, wanting to kiss him harder and deeper despite the fact that we're putting on a show, but Peeta keeps it light and in keeping with the usual routine. His hand leaves my cheek and lands on my thigh and now I'm a little frustrated by my dress that prevents him from touching my skin. I place one palm against his back and grab the front of his shirt with my other hand and indulge in a make-out session that seems to satisfy Solange and Duro but which is timid compared to how we do it when we're by ourselves.

 

 

 

 

It's past midnight when we get to go back to our living quarters and get an update from Haymitch. Thankfully none of the drama in the arena tonight involved our tributes. I was half convinced the gamemakers would arrange for something to happen to one or both of them in order to screw with Peeta and me. I suppose they have ample opportunity to do so later.

Peeta flops down on the couch and grabs the remote, tuning it to Tommy's channel to check in on him. Our nephew is sound asleep in a nook in the wall. All we can do now is the same thing we do every night – hope that nothing bad happens to him while we all get our sleep. Luckily at least the gamemakers tend to refrain from arranging any dramatic developments during the night since they want as many eyes as possible to be watching when the greatest drama unfolds.

We head to bed and Peeta immediately curls up in a foetal position and goes to sleep while I lie awake for a while, staring at the ceiling. I think about Solange and her overblown excitement over what is at this point basically a bundle of cells expanding inside her belly. I realize that there's a part of me that's jealous. How I envy the ability to be that happy over a pregnancy. My long-standing stance that I will never have children has not diminished, if anything the events over the past few weeks have cemented it, but I can't deny that there have been times when I've wished things could be different. A few scattered moments over the years when I've seen Peeta's sisters-in-law with pregnant bellies, with happy little babies in their arms, with children who adore them because they are  _Mother_. I've wondered what my child with Peeta would look like,  _be_  like. I've wondered what it would be like to bear his child and to be a parent with him. But it remains a luxury we can never afford. If it hurts this badly to see our nephew in the arena how unbearable must it be to have your child be a tribute?

I look over at Peeta, briefly allowing myself to entertain the thought of what things might have been like if we had been born in a different world or a different place. Would I still be sleeping beside him? Would I have wanted children with him? My gut instinct tells me yes. After all these years, if we could have a baby and trust it to grow up in a safe world then I would want to be the one he had babies with.

But we can't have that. The arena would take any child we bring into the world. Unlike Solange and Duro our world is not a safe place to live in.


	24. Chapter 24

 

 

I'm halfway done rubbing my right hunting boot with grease when I hear the front door open and then close. The unmistakable sound of Peeta's footsteps follows and it seems like he's going to the kitchen. I note to myself that he's home rather early from his visit with his brother but I don't see anything strange about it. I continue to grease my boot for a minute before I start to feel like something is odd.

I put the shoe down and listen. There's no sound coming from the kitchen. Peeta doesn't spend all his time at home baking but I've rarely known him to be in the kitchen without doing something related to creating or preparing food. With a frown I set the boot down on a piece of cardboard on the floor to protect the carpet and I walk inside the kitchen to see what is going on.

Peeta isn't even there. I frown deeper. Did I just think I heard him walk in here? What's going on?

"Peeta?"

No answer. I walk to the front door but he's not there either. I walk past the downstairs bathroom but the door is open and no one is in there. My next stop is the study where I find him on the small sofa, looking out the window with a morose expression.

"Peeta?"

He turns his head and looks at me. He looks sad and it hurts my heart to see it but he quickly rearranges his face to a neutral expression. Something must have happened while he was visiting his brother. Did his wretch of a mother say or do something? One of his brothers? Sometimes I really hate them for how they fail to appreciate him.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Just fine."

"Yeah you look it."

I walk over and grab him by the hand, pulling him up on his feet. He protests but I'm having none of it, dragging him with me to the kitchen where I order him to sit. He takes a seat at the kitchen table, resting his feet on the chair next to him, looking like he just wants to curl up somewhere and forget about the rest of the world.

I don't know what to say really, partly because when I'm feeling really low I don't want to talk at all. Without saying a word I make him a large mug of tea which I put in his hands before sitting down opposite him at the table.

"Thanks" he says half-heartedly.

"So what happened?"

"Nothing happened. Why are you acting so… domestic?"

"You're upset about  _something_ " I reply. "That much I can tell. It worries me if you find it strange when I'm nice to you."

"No, it's not that" he says, actually chuckling a little. "It's just that you haven't done anything like this for me since… well, since we were in the cave."

"It's a mug of tea, not an injection that will cure septicaemia."

"Point well taken" he says, carefully sipping the hot liquid. "It's good."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about what's going on?"

"Are you sure you want me to?" he retorts, raising his eyebrows at me as he takes a sip of tea.

"You can talk to me, you know."

He shrugs and sets the mug down on the table.

"It's the same old, same old, really. I've never had the best relationship with my family. That's never going to change. I've accepted it a long time ago."

"It can't be that bad" I say, though I know that's not true.

"Oh yeah?" he says, letting out a short, unhappy laugh. "Did you ever wonder how come I moved in here alone, at age sixteen?"

I close my mouth hard. If I ever did wonder I stopped wondering very soon. We weren't on comfortable terms at that point, Peeta and I, and I assumed there could be a thousand reasons why his family stayed in town.

"Doesn't matter anyway" says Peeta but I can tell that it saddens him.

"Stay here" I tell him, getting up from my seat.

"Where are you going?"

"Just wait here. Come upstairs in ten minutes."

He watches me leave with a puzzled expression but obediently stays and drinks his tea. I head up the stairs towards the bathroom connected to our bedroom. I'm feeling a strong determination to make him feel better, to take care of him, similar to the way I've always wanted to take care of Prim yet different somehow. For some time now Peeta has dealt with his difficult relationship with his family and he hasn't had an easy time with me either. Right now I want him to feel taken care of and feel that somebody cares about him.

I walk up to the bathtub and begin to draw a bath. As the water begins to fill the tub and I glance over the buttons to find a suitable scent for the bubbles I try to think of various ways to make Peeta feel better. Brewing a hot mug of tea is something my mother would do. Drawing a bath is something Prim would do. What things would I do? A few years ago I used to sing to Prim when she felt sad but I don't really sing anymore. I could give his shoulders a massage but perhaps that will be too intimate? To my frustration I seem to draw a complete blank and when the ten minutes are up and Peeta's steps come up the stairs I still haven't been able to think of anything.

"Katniss?" I hear Peeta's voice from the bedroom.

"In here! Come here."

The door pushes open and Peeta stops on the threshold, looking puzzled.

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing you a bath. What does it look like?"

There's an almost comical expression on his face as he takes in the sight of the bubble bath, smelling of vanilla which is supposed to be soothing, and the large glass of water sitting on the side of the tub. I remember that Peeta likes baths but that he says he always gets thirsty after a while.

"You… drew me a bath?" He looks at me suspiciously. "Seriously. Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because that's what we do" I say, rising from my kneeling position. "We look after one another. Right?"

"Right" he says hesitantly.

"You're not feeling good and I'm trying to make you feel better. Now get in the bath or do I have to throw you in, clothes and all?"

My lame attempt at a joke falls rather flat but at least he looks a bit more relaxed as he sits down on the toilet and pulls his shirt over his head.

"It's nice of you" he says. "You don't have to go to any trouble, though."

"It's no trouble. I mean it Peeta, I want to look after you like you do for me. We're… spouses. We're meant to take care of each other and help each other feel better."

He smiles half-heartedly.

"So long as you know that you don't  _have_  to go to any trouble. I've never expected you to do stuff like that for me. We're not partners by choice."

"That doesn't mean I don't care about you" I tell him. "You're important to me and I want to help you feel better."

He nods slowly but still seems unsure. While we've been talking he's reached inside his left pant leg and done something with his prosthetic. It now comes off and he puts it down on the floor. I give it a quick glance. It's weird but I've never seen it off his leg before. He wears it most of the time, even to bed, though when I think about it that's rather strange.

Then he grabs a hold of the bathtub with one hand and pulls himself up standing. I have to resist the reflex to walk up and steady him. There's probably a line for  _how_  helpful it's okay for me to be. Then, before I can react, he's pulled his pants down, sat back down on the toilet and kicked the garment aside, leaving him completely naked in front of me.

I can't stop my cheeks from turning bright red as I avert my eyes. We've been married for some time but I've never seen him naked before. It shocks me that he would undress like that in front of me but then I remember our Games when he said he didn't care if I saw him. Maybe he's just not bashful about those things.

"What?" I hear him say warily.

I can't tell him that the sight of him naked makes me uncomfortable. Instead I grasp for another option.

"Nothing, just… I've never seen your leg without the…"

As the words come out of my mouth I realize that's not much better. In the corner of my eye I see him looking down at his leg and shrugging.

"It is what it is."

"It's fine" I tell him quickly. "It just… took me by surprise, I suppose. I'll leave you to your bath."

I hurry out the room, closing the door behind me, and sit down on the edge of the bed. It takes me a moment to process what I just saw. It's not that I haven't seen a naked guy before but those other men were strangers brought to my mother's door with grave injuries or diseases. Peeta is young and healthy and… Peeta.

I feel my cheeks blushing red as I remember what he looked like. It's impossible not to think about that topic we try our best to avoid. We're not going to be able to abstain forever. I know Peeta's had sex before but I have not. I wonder how many other girls have seen him naked and I wonder what they thought of him. Is he a good lover? The thought makes my cheeks turn even redder and I let myself fall back on the mattress as I try to force it from my mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Half an hour later Peeta comes out from the bathroom, now wearing his prosthetic and a pair of light blue boxer briefs. He's using a small white towel to dry his hair but when he lowers his arms his curls are still damp and glistening with droplets of water. I find myself enjoying the sight of him. His muscular arms, his equally muscular torso, the way his hair looks when it's damp… I catch myself moments before he would have caught me staring and I rise from the spot where I've been sitting for the past thirty minutes.

"Had a good bath?" I ask, trying to make my voice sound normal.

"You were right. It was just what I needed." He gives me a smile and it sends a pleasant feeling down my spine. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure."

He throws the towel over the top of the open door to let it dry and I find myself oddly fascinated with the sight of the hair in his armpits. During the Games they had removed all of his body hair except for on his head, just like they do with every tribute every year, but I didn't give it much thought when we were in the arena. I didn't see him without a shirt on very often. Now he looks more natural, the way a guy his age ought to look. Body hair, a scar here and there, no make-up or styled hairdo. Just Peeta, the way he is.

Slowly I walk up to him and he watches me silently, the hint of a smile on his face. I reach up my hands and place them on his shoulders, feeling his still slightly damp skin under my fingers. I look up and meet his eyes and I wonder what happened earlier in the day to make him look so sad. I'm glad he seems to be in better spirits now. I have a hard time stomaching the sight of him unhappy.

I'm not even sure who initiates it but the next thing I know we're kissing softly, his lips pressed to mine in a way that could be just a chaste show of affection and appreciation between two good friends. Still that small, simple touch sparks that hunger in me again and without giving it a second thought I give in to that hunger, opening my mouth to him and wrapping my arms around his neck.

He hesitates, pulls back, but I refuse to let him this time around.

"Don't think" I whisper against his lips. "Just…"

"I don't want to hurt either one of us" he replies.

"Nobody will get hurt."

I kiss him again, pouring all my hunger in the kiss, and after an initial moment of hesitation I feel him giving in, responding to me with the same hunger I am showing him, if not more.

We end up on the bed, me on my back and Peeta on top of me, his body between my legs. I've never had such an intimate kiss before; he's only wearing underwear and I can feel his physical response to me through the thin layers of fabric that separates us. My hands move over his back and he groans into my mouth, sending chills of unexpected pleasure down my spine.

It's like I've been walking in a state of sleep for an eternity and the way he's kissing me, the way he feels between my legs and on top of me, is the first thing that makes me feel like I'm awake and alert again. I don't want to let go of this feeling. I want to follow it as far as it can take me. He breaks apart from me and fearing that he's going to retreat and take that feeling away from me I quickly speak up.

"Make me feel alive, Peeta." He pauses and looks deep into my eyes. I brush a damp strand of hair from his brow. "Please. Make me feel alive."

He kisses me softly, letting his tongue slowly explore my mouth. It frustrates me that I can't tell if this is him being on the same page with me or if it's him trying to round things off. Then I feel his hand sneak underneath my shirt and slowly trace upward and even though it tickles and I recoil a bit it still feels nice.

We end up with the bedspread on the floor and the comforter kicked to the side, me now lying further up on the bed with a pillow supporting my head. Somehow we managed this without breaking body contact for more than a few seconds. We don't say much to each other and I try to focus everything on feeling and not thinking. I have waited a long time for this, waited with a mixture of fear and anticipation, and now that it looks like it will finally happen I find myself more scared than I thought I would be. Even so I want it to happen, I want to feel the way his touch is making me feel and I want this to be on our own terms. I've been worrying that it will end up with Snow forcing us to do this under pain of hurting one of our loved ones and at least right now, in this bed, under these circumstances we're doing it because it's our choice.

I keep my eyes focused on Peeta's face and his hands, not feeling ready to see more of his naked body today. I try to force myself to relax because I think it will be less discomforting if I'm not tensing up. I can't let Peeta know that I'm nervous and if it hurts I can't let him know that either. He will stop if he thinks I'm not comfortable and I don't think I can handle the frustration if we don't see this through tonight.

When the moment finally comes that he pushes into me it does hurt. I pull his face down to rest at the nape of my neck and close my eyes, hoping he won't be able to tell that it doesn't feel pleasant for me but knowing I can't keep the cringe off my face. It burns and stings and stretches in an uncomfortable way and it seems to go on forever until he's finally all the way in. A strangled groan escapes him. He lifts himself up on his elbows and I open my eyes, our gazes meeting.

"I love you" he says softly.

His words almost make me choke up, a sudden and unexpected feeling spreading through me. He's never said those words to me in private before and saying them to me now feels like a reassurance, even though there's something in his eyes that tells me he's not entirely at peace. I rest my hand at the back of his neck and try to think of a way to show him how much he means to me.

"I'm so glad this is with you" I tell him.

There's a shift in his eyes, as if whatever might have troubled him a moment ago has now faded from his mind. He leans down and kisses me hotly, beginning to move inside of me as his lips meet mine. After a couple of minutes it no longer feels unpleasant, in fact it begins to feel a little bit nice, but I find myself wondering what all the fuss is about. You hear people talk about it as if it's the best thing you'll ever experience but all I can say so far is that it's nice. It's also messy and a bit smelly, which nobody has ever told me before, and the sounds our bodies make together are strange to me.

Little droplets of sweat begin to form on Peeta's brow as he moves on top of me. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be doing anything other than just lying here but for now he seems happy with just that so I leave it at that. He smiles at me and I can't help but smile back. My arms travel up and down his back and when he begins to move faster still I wrap my legs around his waist.

The feel of his bare skin against my own is my favourite part of this. It makes me feel alive, just like I asked him to make me feel. It's like every part of me that his skin touches is on fire, in a good way. I just want him to be closer, to feel more of him, to touch him all over.

"Shit" he exclaims suddenly and tries to pull back.

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded by this turn of events. My legs hold him in place but he reaches back his hand and untangles them before moving off me. "Peeta, what? Did I do something wrong?"

"No" he pants, flopping down next to me on the bed. "No. Quite the opposite, but…"

"But what?" I ask.

"But we don't have any birth control."

I feel myself blush. That thought hadn't even occurred to me.

"Oh."

"Yeah. It might be that we'll have to cross that bridge at some point…" He swallows, trying to catch his breath. "But not yet. I'm not ready for that yet." I move to touch him but he sits up suddenly. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll be right back."

Then the bed dips as he moves further down and then gets down on the floor, heading for the bathroom. The door closes behind him and I lie there staring at the ceiling, feeling exposed and rather stupid. I don't know what I was expecting to feel in this moment but this certainly wasn't it. I reach for the comforter and pull it over me, trying to think but finding my mind to be far too jumbled.

The bathroom door opens after a few minutes and Peeta comes back. I take care not to look at him, knowing that he's naked, but when the bed dips and his body aligns with mine I regret the comforter, wanting to feel his skin on my own again.

"I'm sorry Katniss" he says.

"No…" I say, feeling awkward. "Don't be."

"I should have thought about it before we…"

"I didn't either."

I bite my bottom lip, averting my eyes. So what happens now?

Peeta answers my unspoken question by lifting the comforter and joining me underneath it. His hand finds my hip and moves further down, finding the spot between my legs where I let him touch me briefly before he entered me. This time he doesn't ask permission. He touches me in ways I didn't know I could be touched and this feels pretty good, good enough that I allow myself to relax and stop thinking so much. The feeling builds for a while until it peaks, still not anywhere close to the stories I've heard but better than anything I can remember feeling in the past few years so I guess I have no room to complain. When that feeling hits me I can't stop my mind from wondering where he learned to touch a girl like that and how many girls he's practiced on before me. It makes me feel jealous and possessive but the feeling passes as my body begins to relax.

Peeta curls up to me, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling his face at the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around him in return and feel peaceful and calm. I feel so close to him in this moment, closer than I ever have to anyone in fact. Perhaps it's not so strange given how intimate we've been physically but I can't believe it's all thanks to that. Those women who line up at Cray's door hoping to sell their bodies to feed their families can hardly feel this close to him when it's over. There has to be something more that brings this feeling, more than just the sex.

"Peeta" I mumble into his hair. It's still damp from his bath, which makes me smile for some reason.

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't mind doing that again, sometime."

He laughs and his breath tickles. I smile and close my eyes, holding him close to me, revelling in the feel of his naked skin against mine. I'm comfortably drowsy and could probably fall asleep at any moment but another thought crosses my mind and I have to share it with Peeta before I drift off.

"I think we could actually have a happy life."

He pulls his head back a bit to squint at me. He looks drowsy too and I find the look on his face adorable.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning… that as long as we hold each other close I think we can be really good together."

He studies my face intently as if trying to decipher a deeper meaning behind those words. I'm not entirely sure what I mean exactly but what I do know is that I've missed him like crazy ever since our wedding night and not until now do I feel like I truly have him back. I'm not ready to let go.

"Be a team with me" I whisper to him in the darkness of our bedroom.

"Yes" he whispers back.

He settles back in the way he was and I sigh contently, feeling safe and sound for the first time since as far back as I can remember. If I can only have him by my side, being a unit against those who want to hurt us in the Capitol, then I think something good can become of my life. I haven't realized until now how much I truly need Peeta, and maybe it's the aftermath of intercourse talking but I feel an unusual sense of completion.

I pull him a little closer, let my eyes drift shut and moments later I have fallen asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

I wake up after about an hour, my stomach growling and reminding me that it's time for dinner. It's strange to have taken a nap underneath the covers at this time of day but the reminder of the reason why makes me smile. I'm feeling a warmth and happiness that has all to do with Peeta and that almost makes me ignore that I'm also feeling a bit sore.

We did it. Finally we had sex. I don't feel as relieved as I thought I would but I'm happy for once and I don't want to question that emotion. I study Peeta's features with a soft smile on my lips, enticed by his face as he sleeps. By the sound of his deep and even breaths I'm guessing he's not going to wake up for a while yet and I feel the sudden desire to do something to surprise him.

Carefully I slip out from underneath the covers and begin to recover the items of clothing I shed before. Once I'm fully dressed I tiptoe out of the bedroom and head down the stairs to start preparing dinner. I'm starving and Peeta probably is too. A nice, hot meal would be the perfect way to wrap up this evening and after that, well…

I rummage through the cabinets and the refrigerator but to my annoyance I can't find anything that would make for a good meal. There's a jar of wild rice and an almost empty jar of pasta but nothing good to cook with it. Since I didn't go out hunting today there's no fresh meat and I suddenly remember that I was planning on paying my mother and sister a visit right around dinner time and see if I could eat with them.

Frowning I close the refrigerator door and cross my arms over my chest. I don't want to go upstairs and wake Peeta and bring him over to my old house and dinner with my mother and sister. I want us to have a meal alone together tonight. Except I don't want us to have a dinner of rice and pasta and a few vegetables. If we had cream or even a bit of milk I could have tried my hands at making a pasta sauce but the only dairy product in the house is a jar of butter.

I head for the front hall and grab my winter shoes, trying to recall where I've put my hunting boots. With a different pair of shoes on I grab my coat and then head out the door, jogging towards my old house and wincing slightly at the physical discomfort between my legs. I enter the house after one knock and my stomach growls again when the smell of dinner fills my nose.

I find my mother and sister in the kitchen, almost done preparing dinner. Prim grins when she sees me and gives me a big hug. My mother gives me a smile as well and seems to be studying me on the sly. I realize I'm grinning like an idiot but I don't care to try and hide the happy mood I'm in. I just hope she can't tell the reason why.

"You're just in time for dinner!" announces Prim, lifting Buttercup into her arms.

"It smells wonderful" I say. "I wish I could stay but I can't."

"Why not?" my sister complains.

"Peeta's waiting for me." Despite my best efforts there's a blush on my cheeks but I manage to toss out a lie to distract them from thinking too much about it. "He's already gotten started on dinner but we realized we're out of meat. I came by to see if you have any left that we could borrow."

"It's meat that you brought home" says my mother calmly, walking over to the freezer box. "It's yours. No borrowing."

"Can't you call Peeta and tell him to just stop cooking and come over here instead?" asks Prim.

"I don't like wasting food" I reply.

"Alright, alright" sighs Prim theatrically. Then she gets s glint in her eyes and gives me a nudge with her elbow. "I can take a hint and you are a lousy liar. Romantic husband and wife dinner, right?"

"Something like that" I say with a bashful smile.

"Here, take this" says my mother and hands me a steak wrapped in paper. I frown and hesitate to take it. This isn't something I've shot and killed, this is brought from the butcher shop.

"You don't have to give me anything fancy" I object.

"Romantic dinner calls for more than rabbit or pheasant which is all that we have aside from this."

I blush even more, feeling ridiculously awkward.

"But…"

"No but, just take it" she says softly. "It's not a big deal, Katniss."

I mumble a thanks and make my way back to the door, my sister in tow. As I put my shoes back on I look over at her and find her leaning against the doorpost with her arms crossed and a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"What?" I ask.

"I knew you guys were doing romance stuff even without the cameras" she says.

"It's no big deal, it's just dinner" I mumble.

"You wouldn't be blushing like that if it was  _just dinner_. I think there's going to be more than  _just dinner_."

"Prim!" I gasp, shocked and a bit horrified at hearing her insinuate anything at all that has to do with sex. I'm four years her senior and a married woman and I'm barely comfortable insinuating things about it.

"What?" she says casually. "Like I don't know what married people do."

"Okay, I'm leaving" I say.

"Give Peeta a kiss from me" she teases in a sing-song voice.

"Good night Prim" I say icily, closing the door behind me.

I'm a little rattled by that conversation with her. She's only fourteen, way,  _way_  too young to know about sex or to be thinking about kissing boys. When I was fourteen those thoughts never even crossed my mind, except that I knew I never wanted to engage in anything like that. I'm not comfortable with my baby sister knowing that Peeta and I had sex less than two hours ago and what that actually means.

I walk inside the house and take my outerwear off. I leave the package of meat on the kitchen counter and gather a pot and a frying pan, trying my best to not make any sound that could wake Peeta up. My eyes go to the staircase and I feel an urge to go up to the bedroom and steal another look at him. I look at the meat package and the pot and pan and wonder to myself what I'll make of it, since cooking isn't my strongest suit. I can prepare food well enough but I have almost no imagination when it comes to ways of varying the meals I cook. One might think that a person who's been forced to go hungry so often would have a never ending stream of ideas for meals but I never seem to be able to think of any.

I decide to change my plans. Instead of cooking for Peeta I will go wake him up and we can cook together. We've done that a hundred times before but this time I get a funny feeling in my stomach, a strange twitch in my heart and can't seem to keep from smiling. I want to believe that what we've shared together today means we're back to being a team again and cooking a nice dinner together with Peeta, like a genuine couple would do, makes me feel happy.

I hurry up the stairs as quietly as possible, still hoping to be the one to wake Peeta up, and walk to the bedroom. Pushing the door open I feel my smile widening, imagining how I will kiss him awake or maybe snuggle up to him. My face falls when I find the bedroom empty and the bed neatly made. For a moment I just stand there in the doorway, trying to figure out what has gone on while I was away. Where is Peeta?

I call his name and walk inside the bathroom, hoping to find him in there. The bathroom is empty and the towel Peeta previously hung over the door is now back on its hanger. Frowning I walk back out in the hallway and rack my brain trying to figure out where he's gone. I decide to check his study first and walk over to the door, feeling slightly nervous as I knock and then enter.

Peeta doesn't look up at me when I walk into the room. He is fully dressed, perched on a stool in front of an easel, working on a painting. He doesn't look nearly as happy as I've been feeling and immediately I start to worry. Does he regret having sex? Did I push him to do something he wasn't comfortable doing? Up until today I've been so set on taking that step with him that I haven't paid much heed to the reasons he has voiced for not jumping into bed with me.

"Peeta…" I say. "There you are."

He looks at me and offers me a smile that doesn't seem entirely genuine.

"Hey" he says.

"What are you doing?"

"Painting."

I hesitate, suddenly not so sure about the steak dinner and cooking it together.

"Are you hungry? I was thinking we could make dinner."

"Thanks but I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch." He sees my disappointment and his features soften a bit. "Come here."

I walk over to him and pull up a stool to sit right beside him. It's strange how I can feel nervous around him after what we've done together today.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

"Yeah" he shrugs. He looks at me with a trace of concern. "What about you? Are you feeling… alright?"

"I'm good."

"Good" he nods. "You were gone when I woke up and I was worried you might…"

He doesn't finish the sentence but from the look on his face it's clear that my absence made him worry. Quickly I try to find the right thing to say to make him see that I woke up feeling great and that my absence had no negative reasons but I can't seem to think of anything. Explaining that I went to my mother to borrow meat seems far too random and I want to say something that makes him truly understand that I enjoyed our activities today, even if it wasn't the amazing experience people say it is.

"Listen, about earlier today…" he begins, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward look on his face. "It wasn't exactly… how I had pictured it."

A sudden rush of warmth flows through me.

"You've pictured it?"

"Well, yeah, I mean…" He makes an awkward face. "What I told you before, about wanting you to feel the same way about me that I do about you is true and I have daydreamed that scenario… a lot. Truth be told, though, I was hoping it would never come to that but I was naïve."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask defensively. He doesn't answer for over a minute so I say his name in a stern voice.

"You and I both know that as victors are lives are not our own" he says. "The struggle has been to figure out exactly what that means and how much wiggle room there is to get around the various things that are expected of us."

"Meaning?"

He sighs heavily.

"I know I've been a huge pain in the ass. Cold and distant and pushing you away. I don't know if it's better or worse that it was intentional. Worse, most likely…"

I feel a lump in my throat and pull back from him a bit.

"Well then you can just-"

He holds up a hand as if to signal for me to stop and I do.

"President Snow made it very clear to me what was expected of me. It was his own personal… wedding gift to me."

My jaw drops. I never expected Snow to have spoken to Peeta too until our recent Capitol visit. I was always the troublesome one, Peeta was the one fully on board.

"What?"

"He thought you would be the one unwilling to get into bed with me and he made sure I knew I had two options. Or rather that he knew I was likely to create two options – sleep with you or not sleep with you. Naturally he would prefer the former but in case I chose the latter he wanted to make sure some fun could come of it for him."

"I… don't understand."

"It's… a long story" says Peeta, looking distantly at the canvas on his easel. "If I were to choose not to sleep with you there would of course be a lifetime of pent-up sexual desire on my part, which no doubt would be hilarious to him, but in his infinite generosity he would find ways to make sure I had an outlet."

He swallows hard and looks very uncomfortable. I put my hand on his arm and he jolts a little.

"Peeta… What has he done to you?"

"Nothing, not yet. He was going to enjoy watching me squirm for a few years first. Trying to see if I would break and go for it with you. I thought that if you didn't want to be intimate with me it would be much easier to abstain but you've proven to be more… well, willing to play that game, if you pardon the expression. I think he knows that and finds it funny in his own twisted way. So I've tried to keep you at arm's length, be undesirable, be…"

"Why not just give in and let us deal with the fallout together?"

"Because if I could have just withheld then only I would have had to pay for it. I've understood as much as that if I choose sex it won't be good for us. When I say our lives are not our own that includes our sex lives. I won't go into detail about it all but the point is that once we start having sex he's got plans for us, plans that don't just include babies. I've been trying to figure out a way around it and up until now I've been able to ward his threats off but when we went to the Capitol for the Victory Tour party he told me to force myself on you if you wouldn't give yourself willingly, or…" He swallows hard. "Or he would have somebody else do it." He looks a touch pale. "I realized I was a damn fool thinking I could beat that man. I thought the miscarriage stunt would bring the public on our side, and help me hold on to my determination not to sleep with you, but I guess not. I know I'm an ass for not telling you but I thought it would be easier to pull something off if you weren't in the know. Actually I thought that his main goal was to make us miserable and that if I acted distant from you and made you dislike me we  _would_  be and maybe that would be enough for him. It's been hell trying to keep you away but I'm not asking for any sympathy for myself. Now that we've arrived at this point I wish I had made a different choice, that I had included you in whatever plans I was making, that I had given you affection when I wanted to and been the kind of partner I wanted to be, the kind you deserve. I guess I thought emotional distance and an unhappy marriage would be better than us both having a life like Finnick's or Cashmere's or…" He closes his eyes hard for a second. "I'm really sorry. You don't have to forgive me, or even understand. Just know that however misguided I may have been what I wanted to do was protect us, protect  _you_."

I reach out my hand and place it on his cheek. He opens his eyes and looks at me and it feels like the old Peeta looking back at me. I don't understand half of what he's alluding to and I don't know if I want to. Whatever Snow has been holding over him it's obviously been unpleasant. I know I have a choice now, to either be angry with Peeta and push us further into that unhappy marriage or I can be the one who puts an end to the secrets between us, the miscommunication and the walls. Peeta has been fighting to keep us from being a team, despite his own wishes, but from this point on we can be a unit again. We've already had sex so that bridge has been crossed no matter what we do from this point on. We can face Snow together. It would be marvellous to show him that despite his machinations we've come out stronger and happier on the other side.

I lean in and kiss my husband. He hesitates but then gives in, and when he does he does so with hunger and desperation. We're on our feet in an instant, clumsily moving towards the door, mouths locked together and hands awkwardly fumbling. Then Peeta gives up trying to move like this and grabs me by the waist, lifting me up in his arms. I wrap my legs around him and let him carry me back to the bedroom where we fall down on the bed in a tangled mess, clinging to each other like we've been starved for each other.

There's a brief moment of hesitation in the back of my mind. I'm sore from earlier and the steak is lying there on the kitchen counter and won't hold up for all that long unless we pause and I run down to put it in the refrigerator. Then Peeta's hand finds its way inside my shirt and palms my breast and I can't even recall if I borrowed steak or potatoes or Buttercup from my mother and sister.

We make quick work of each other's clothes and I get to feel his skin press against mine again, and his lips. He showers me in kisses and caresses and it's all I can do to keep up but I don't complain. It feels far too good to have any complaints at all. Whatever the future might hold for us I will not regret this happening between us.

It feels like in this moment we make a pact, to once again join forces and be unified and be stronger together than anything Snow could ever hope to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Worth the wait? Good at all? Let me know!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The present day chapters are turning out rather short... Hopefully this one will be exciting enough to make up for it =)

"This evening, fifteen minutes after the anthem has played, a feast will be held at the cornucopia."

I pull my feet up on the couch, wrapping my arms around my pyjama-clad legs. Peeta and I have gotten ready to go to bed once the anthem had played but I don't think he will be enough at ease to go to sleep now any more than I will. A feast will bring possibilities but also dangers and if one or both our tributes go it might become an intense evening. I feel a tight knot in my stomach at the thought of Tommy going there. I don't want to see him in a scuffle with another tribute. In fact I wouldn't mind if he spent the entirety of the rest of the Games in hiding even though that wouldn't be considered an _honourable_ victory.

"There will be only one item served at this feast" continues Claudius' voice. "Whoever gets it will have a distinct advantage over his or her competitors. Good luck."

"It's far too early in the Game to have a feast" mumbles Peeta, worry in his voice.

"No it's happened this early before" answers Haymitch, his voice a touch distant as he stares at the screen. "Not very common, though. Especially not with this kind of arena where they have plenty of excitement from the get-go."

I look over at the large clock on the wall. Forty-five minutes until the anthem will play, consequently an hour until the feast is held. That's a long time to wait when you're a mentor or a family member but when you're a tribute it's a short time to decide if you're willing to put your life on the line to get whatever it is they're offering.

"It's not just the feast so early on that's unusual" comments Peeta. "Having just the one item is something I can't remember seeing before. What kind of an advantage do you think it will be?"

"Night-vision goggles?" I suggest.

"They've done one-item feasts before, though now it's been many years" says Haymitch. "Night-vision goggles could be it but I'm guessing it's a weapon of some sort or possibly a large bag of food and drink supplies."

Peeta grabs the remote and switches to Tommy's channel. He shows no reaction to Claudius' message at first. He walks carefully down a corridor with black marble walls. The different walls in different tunnels at first seemed to be guides to the tributes, helping them keep track of which tunnels hold traps and which tunnels hold hiding places or supply stations, but as usual with the gamemakers things aren't that simple. The difference in walls have two purposes, none of which is to help the tributes. The first purpose is to help the viewers keep track of the various tunnels and to be able to spot if more than one tribute or groups of tributes are in the same corridor. The other is to trick the tributes into a false sense of security or knowledge about the arena. The gamemakers can at any time they choose activate the traps prepared for that tunnel or set up a supply station, meaning no tunnel stays the same for long and consequently no tunnel is ever safe.

Eventually Tommy stops walking and takes a seat on the ground. He picks up a few rocks from the ground and looks them over, finally settling on one that's slightly larger than his closed fist. He takes the scythe from its place on his belt and begins to sharpen the blade with a determined look on his face.

"He's going to go, isn't he?" says Peeta.

"How will they even find the cornucopia in time?" I question. They have no idea what time of day it is, with the exception of Digit, the girl from District 3, who received an old-fashioned wristwatch as a sponsor gift. Fifteen minutes seems like an awful short amount of time for the tributes to be able to find their way to the cornucopia through the giant maze once the national anthem has played.

"They'll think of some way of leading them there" says Haymitch calmly, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. "No point in having a feast if nobody attends."

"Unless whatever item they're serving just lies there until someone stumbles upon it" remarks Peeta.

"Yeah but that doesn't offer much chance of carnage."

"Maybe they just enjoy the thought of seeing the tributes all race around like lost rats in the labyrinth, trying to find the right location" I comment dryly. "For added hilarity a few of them might even fall into traps!"

"No, they want as many of them as possible to be at the cornucopia when the feast begins" says Haymitch, still completely calm. "They want them all to know what the special object is, especially if it turns out to be a weapon."

"Well, I can't sit here and think about it while we wait" I say, getting up from the couch. "I'm going to get some hot milk. Peeta?"

"I'm staying here" he says.

"You never offer to bring me beverages" teases Haymitch.

"There are a lot of things I do for him that I don't do for you" I reply suggestively, making Peeta turn his head and give me a slightly surprised, and actually a bit entertained, look. "Besides, the last thing you need is more fluids in your system. Your kidneys work overtime as it is."

I walk from the sitting room to the dining area, deciding halfway there to stop by our bedroom first and get my robe. I seem to feel cold a lot these days, a fact that is not helped by the current lack of body hair. Robe nicely wrapped around me I go to get my hot milk and hopefully find some measure of calm before the shit hits the fan.

Lavinia, still our avox after all these years, brings me the steaming hot mug and I carefully take it between my hands, putting my feet up on the chair beside the one I'm sitting on. I blow on the hot liquid absentmindedly, trying to will away the anxious knot in my stomach. What is Tommy going to do? What is Sally going to do? What will the item be at the feast and what will happen once somebody gets their hands on it?

I deeply wish Tommy will stay away from the cornucopia, though I don't hold it for very likely since he's sharpening his scythe. I would like Sally to stay safe as well though it wouldn't be all that terrible if she at least showed up at the feast, keeping away from the scuffle but making her presence known to the viewers. She's in danger of slipping below everyone's radar at the current rate and unless she's got something up her sleeve a la Johanna Mason then she needs to start calling attention to herself. It's only going to get more difficult to win her much needed sponsorship if she doesn't do anything to stand out from the crowd.

I end up so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice that I finish my mug of milk and I lose track of the time. A soft hand on my shoulder jolts me back to the moment and I turn my head to see Lavinia standing there, a silent reminder that the evening broadcast is about to begin. Quickly I get to my feet, setting the empty mug down on the table with a bang, and hurry out to the sitting room where Peeta and Haymitch have been joined by Emalda and the stylists.

Quietly I slip down on the couch beside Peeta, pulling my feet up underneath me, my eyes glued to the television. Claudius and Caesar begin their broadcast with their usual vigour, something one must envy them of seeing as how they've got to be closer to 100 than 50, and tonight I find their mindless babble even more frustrating and annoying than usual. I don't care about these two buffoons or anything they have to say. I want to get this part of the program over with so we can get to the feast.

The stylists chat with a reluctant Emalda, discussing theories about the feast, and I can barely keep myself from snarling at them to shut the hell up. I steal a look at Peeta every few minutes and always find him staring intently at the screen, looking like he's absorbing every word. I look over at Haymitch who is leaned back against the cushions nursing a tumbler filled with orange juice, making a disgruntled face each time he takes a sip and is reminded that there's no alcohol in the glass.

"And now finally…" says Caesar at last. "The moment we have all been waiting for! Claudius will you do the honours of announcing the start of the feast?"

"It will be my pleasure!"

"Here we go…" I say under my breath, wrapping my robe tighter around me as if that would protect me from anything bad that might be unfolding in the arena in the next few minutes.

The screen fills with images of the cornucopia and Claudius' voice addresses the tributes, welcoming them to the feast. Not a single person can be seen, which is usually how it goes when the feasts are begun. An electronic humming noise breaks through the silence and a hatch opens on the ground, allowing for a large wooden table to be lifted into the arena. On top of the table lies the item the tributes will be fighting over.

"Oh gross" groans Peeta, turning his face away.

I stare in wordless horror at the item on the table. It's not night-vision goggles nor is it food or drink supplies. It's a weapon but I cannot for the life of me figure out how this particular weapon could be a huge advantage. It is, however, a distinctively awful and cruel-looking weapon that would most definitely bring me to terror if I was a tribute in the arena. It's a halberd, somewhere between 1.5 and 2 meters long, its silvery surface shining under the spotlight the gamemakers shine on it. I've never seen one in the Games before, in fact I wouldn't even know what it was called if Caesar and Claudius hadn't excitedly informed us viewers.

"He's not going to go for that" says Haymitch calmly. "Neither one of our tributes is. They know they have little use for a weapon like that."

"That's true of Tommy, he has that awful scythe" I say. "Sally, on the other hand, is unarmed."

"And unlikely to risk her life for a weapon that's probably too heavy for her to wield effectively anyway" argues Haymitch. "How much do you think that thing weighs? Four, five kilos? Doesn't sound like much perhaps but that girl hasn't had a lot to eat in the arena and the weight of it will be more of a hassle than it's worth. If you can't put it to effective use then there's no point dragging it around."

"I hope you're right" I mumble under my breath. I know it would be good for Tommy if Sally went for the halberd and got herself killed but I can't actively wish for her death. Especially not on the other end of that horrible weapon, which bring another thought to mind. " _Someone_ will end up with it though and she might figure that it's better being the one wielding it than the one killed by it."

"Hush!" says Peeta sharply. "We're about to find out what they'll do anyway so keep your mouths shut all of you so we can focus."

He leans forward on the couch and squints a bit, watching the events unfolding on the screen. For almost a full minute nobody goes for the weapon but the main feed gives us close-ups of several tributes hiding in various corridors with their eyes glued on the halberd. Tommy is among them. Sally is not.

Unsurprisingly it's a career tribute that moves first. Mara, the girl from One, darts from her hiding place and sprints towards the weapon but just a second after she's moved the boy from Eight, a tall and strong kid named Jacob Loom, begins a sprint as well. She reaches the weapon first but he is bigger and stronger and tackles her with little effort, sending her flying to the ground. He's got a hold of the weapon before she can get up and with seemingly little effort he moves to stab her with it. Suddenly he grunts in pain and I notice a sharp, almost star-shaped object sticking out from his shoulder-blade. The camera quickly shows the girl from Four smirking and preparing to throw another one to finish the job. Despite the pain Jacob hurls the halberd at Mara and kills her with it, the weapon producing a sickening sound when it enters her body.

Two other career tributes come darting out to finish him off, the girl from Four and the boy from One, both of them screaming in rage. The remaining two career tributes exit their corridor but stay close to the wall, ready to jump in if their help is needed but for the time being holding on to the three large backpacks full of supplies they have gathered. Jacob doesn't wait around to continue the fight, he darts off into a tunnel at random, knocking into Wheaton, the boy from Eleven, sending both of them flying to the ground. They stare at each other for a second, then Wheaton leaps to his feet, pulls the star-shaped object out of Jacob's body and runs off down the corridor. Jacob manages to crawl further into the corridor, grasping the halberd in his left hand, and then get up on his feet before the career tributes can catch up with him. All the while he's got a pained expression on his face, each movement exacerbating the pain from his wound, but he manages to keep it together.

While all this is going on the two careers who stayed behind emerge further into the cornucopia area. Suddenly Tommy comes racing out from his corridor, the commotion covering the sounds of his steps. Before the careers can react he grabs the backpack that Shimmer is holding and continues his run, the force of his movement sending her spinning around. She yelps angrily but Tommy stops and jams the scythe through her neck. Her hand lets go of the backpack and goes to the gaping wound he delivered but he doesn't stay to watch her die. He races off with the backpack in his hands and through sheer luck none of the other career tributes follow. They all seem startled that the casualties of the feast have been two of their group and in the commotion they can't agree on whether they should go after Jacob or Tommy, nor do they get the idea to split up.

"Let's get out of here, _now_!" growls Maximus finally, still cradling a now lifeless Shimmer in his arms. He sets her down somewhat gently and flies to his feet, wiping her blood off his hands on the fabric of his pants. Then he leads the remaining group down the hallway they came from.

There's a moment of silence, as if the gamemakers are waiting to see if anyone else will emerge and do something exciting, and then two cannon shots are heard. I become aware that my heart is pounding in my chest and Peeta closes his eyes hard, letting out a strangled groan.

I give him a glance and know that we are thinking the same thing. Our nephew has blood on his hands now. So do Peeta and I and everyone else who has ever won the Games but it's still a difficult moment. A large part of Tommy's innocence just died with that girl from District 2 and there's no getting around that.

Haymitch leans over and grabs the remote, switching to Tommy's feed. He is running and keeps going until he reaches a fork in the road. He chooses the left passageway and continues twenty-or-so meters down that way before stopping. He's panting heavily, the backpack flung over his shoulders and the blood stained scythe still in his hand. He swallows hard, looks down at the weapon and his eyes widen in horror. It falls to the ground with a clang and then he falls to his knees, braces his hands against the dirt ground and empties the contents of his stomach. His eyes are closed hard and when he's done vomiting he begins to mumble something under his breath.

I can't make it out exactly but it sounds like "I've murdered someone, I've murdered someone, I've murdered someone".

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Peeta sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the mattress so hard that his knuckles have turned a shade of white. His head is tilted slightly downward and he stares aimlessly ahead, probably not seeing whatever is in his line of sight. I'm sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, my robe still pulled tightly around my body. Tommy eventually fell asleep, trebling and from the looks of it barely keeping the tears at bay. I suppose the upside is that we'll be having an easier time procuring sponsors for him after his stunt today but I cannot help wondering if it was worth the price.

Unable to sit still any longer I shift on the bed and shimmy out of the robe. I move down to where Peeta sits and drape the piece of clothing over his shoulders, barely getting a reaction from him. Then I get down on the floor and take a few steps towards the bathroom before stopping. I begin to pace back and forth, going from left to right in Peeta's view if he's seeing me at all. I cannot think about Tommy right now and the blood that is on his hands. If I do I'll go mad. I distract myself by worrying about that other tribute of ours, the one who was a no-show, the one whose name everyone is probably starting to forget.

"I cannot believe she didn't show up!" I say with exasperation, throwing my hands out. "I _cannot_ believe she didn't show up! Not even to find out what was going to unfold! Damn it! She needs to get her face on the screens. Something _interesting_ needs to happen to her. She needs to take some damn _initiative_!"

I look over at Peeta and find him glaring up at me from underneath his bangs.

"Disappointed that she's not a murderess yet?" he asks dryly.

"She's not even going to have to worry about finding herself on the wrong end of that new shiny weapon if she doesn't do anything that helps us get her some damn _sponsors_ soon because she's going to starve and dehydrate and probably freeze and otherwise get herself drop-kicked into non-existence by exposure" I rant.

"She's doing good" says Peeta tiredly. "She probably has something planned."

"You've said that about every single tribute we've had whose been this inactive and so far you've been right exactly zero times."

"I'm due for a win, then" he says with a lot of irritation.

I stop and shake my head furiously, groaning with frustration. Nothing is going the way I would like for it to. I need to find some outlet for all this pent-up aggravation but something tells me that the only sure-fire way I know of is not an option at present. I know my husband well enough to be sure that he would give me a look like I was crazy if I walked up to him now and straddled him. I can't help it though. I want him. I want him to help me get some release and to anchor me and to give me the only reassurance I can find that things will turn out okay in the end. Moreover I want to be able to help him, to make him feel better and less conflicted, to ease the pain in his heart. I know I could do it if he would only let me but he's not going to allow that. Not tonight. Probably not during these entire Games, if the choice is up to him.

So instead I walk to the bathroom and begin to splash my face with cold water over and over again. I don't stop until my hands are starting to feel numb and then I grab the nearest towel, Peeta's, and dry my face. I carefully avoid looking at my own reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth with angry motions. When I'm done I grab Peeta's toothbrush and add toothpaste to it, running it quickly underneath the faucet. Holding the toothbrush in my hand I walk back out to him.

"Tomorrow's going to be a fun day" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "The career mentors are going to just love us."

"To hell with them, they've mentored more tributes that have killed a tributes of ours than I care to count to." He gives me an odd look when I stop in front of him and hold out his toothbrush. "What's this?"

"It's for your mouth, dear" I say dryly.

He takes it and begins to brush, moving to the bathroom as he does. My robe is still draped over his shoulders and I notice he's moved it to sit better. While he's in the bathroom I move aside the bedspread and the comforter, getting up on the bed and sitting down in the middle with my arms wrapped around my knees. Peeta comes back after a few minutes, having used the bathroom before turning off the lights and closing the door. He looks so weary and it's almost like seeing an older version of the boy in the arena who now sleeps with a bloody scythe hidden under his shoulder. A shiver runs through me when I think of how easily Peeta could have been the older version of a boy in the arena – how his and my son could have been forced to undergo those horrors. Yet again I think of how much it hurts to see our nephew in there and how much worse it must be when it's your own child. To see your own offspring going through all the things a tribute cannot avoid going through if they are to stand a chance at winning.

"It had to happen at some point, Peeta" I hear myself saying in a surprisingly calm voice. "There has never been a Hunger Games victor who didn't kill anybody in the arena." I pause for a second. "You and I both have a kill count of two."

"Tommy isn't like us." He walks over and lets the robe drop, catching it on the way and laying it over the foot of the bed. He plops down on his back beside me, sighing heavily, and rests his head on his hands. "He's softer, gentler."

"You're about as kind and gentle as they come" I reply, fighting to resist the urge to reach out my hand and let my fingers play with the now hairless skin that is visible above the V-neck of his pyjama jacket.

"It's different with Tommy" he objects, shaking his head. "I knew I was going to have to do it. I went into the arena with a plan, one that included being accepted by the careers, which meant fighting it out at the cornucopia. I did it for a cause and I wasn't going to let that change me. Tommy on the other hand… He's going to be different now."

"He won't make it out alive if he isn't willing to do what he did today" I carefully point out. "Yes it will change him but if he gets out he will have you and me to help him. He doesn't have to end up like us."

"No…" says Peeta wistfully. "If he wins he'll end up like Finnick or Silver or Mach or…" Without completing the sentence he reaches out and pulls the string that turns the light on his nightstand off. He then sits up and grabs the comforter to pull it up over us. "We can't protect him. Not in the arena, not when – if – he gets out."

"Don't go there" I warn in a low voice, laying down and turning my own nightstand lamp off. "We'll cross that bridge later."

"It's impossible _not_ to think about it" he mutters in response.

At first I think I will allow the conversation to end there. We are both tired and weary and need whatever amount of sleep we can get. The room feels unusually stuffy tonight, as if they've set the temperature higher than normal, and I can feel the sheets sticking to my body in an uncomfortable way. I feel restless despite my fatigue and I think Peeta feels the same way because he moves around several times as if having problems finding a comfortable sleeping position. After a while I decide the conversation might as well continue and perhaps we'll find it easier to sleep if we've gotten everything off our chests.

"Peeta, listen…" I say, shifting to lay on my side and face him. It's dark in the room and I can just barely make out the familiar silhouette of him. "Tommy will get past this. It's horrible, the same way the Games are horrible, but if there is any bright spot in the tributes being children it's that you adapt more easily when you're young."

"Adapt to what?" questions Peeta. There's an irritated tone in his voice that tells me he's been working himself up about this in his mind while we've been silent. "To violence? To murdering innocent people?"

"The tributes are murdered but not by their fellow tributes" I argue. "It's your life or theirs. Tommy's not going to kill anybody outside of the arena."

"No but he'll live forever with the knowledge that he took a life. I haven't forgotten the two I murdered. I still see their faces in my nightmares."

"But you are alive to have those nightmares. The bottom line is that Tommy's survival is what matters most."

"His survival means more than leaving the arena with a pulse" says Peeta, sounding upset. "What about his survival of self?"

I rarely know what to say when Peeta veers off into philosophical questions such as these and right now it frustrates me. I know that Peeta highly values holding on to yourself and not letting any outside force change you but I find that viewpoint to be far too rigid at times. Survival of the fittest means that you need to be able to adapt because the world around you changes. It's the person who can adapt who perseveres in the end.

"Getting him out of there alive is the _only_ thing that matters" I say with emphasis. "Trust me, I would love for him to have been able to get through the experience without blood on his hands but if he is to win the Games that could never happen. We have to be realistic about this."

"He might have to pay an awful high price to be the winner" says Peeta gloomily. "How big of a price can be acceptable?"

" _Any_ price" I say with conviction. "I wish he didn't have to pay one but it's unavoidable. The truth is that our goalposts for what is an acceptable price will continue to be moved as the Games continue because we know that none of the things he may have to sacrifice are worth so much that he ought to die for it."

Peeta sits up slowly, wrapping his arms around his knees. For several minutes he stares blankly head without saying anything, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. I watch him and wait for him to speak. He knows I'm right. There's no denying it. I hate that Tommy had to kill another tribute just as much as Peeta does but each dead tribute brings him one step closer to victory and there has never been a victor who didn't take at least one life.

"If you destroy too much of what was there at the start in order to save it, what have you actually saved?" says Peeta finally.

I frown, not quite understanding what he's getting at.

"I don't follow."

There's another slight pause.

"No I get that."

He throws the comforter to the side, cooler air hitting my body with the motion. Then he gets out of bed and I push myself up on my elbow and study him with a frown.

"What are you doing?"

"I won't be able to go to sleep" he says. "I'm going to get something to drink. Check in on Tommy."

"Tommy is asleep" I point out.

"Yeah but… I'd feel better watching over him. He trusts me not to abandon him."

"He knows you have to sleep too."

"All the same I'd… I'd feel better knowing that he's not alone." In the darkness I can see him bowing his head a touch. "I don't even know for sure who he will be when he wakes up in the morning. I would like to be there and watch over him tonight."

With that he leaves the room, a stream of light illuminating everything when he opens the door. I can see the weary look on his face and the dejected slump of his shoulders before the door closes and I'm left alone in the darkness. With a huff I lie back down and grab a pillow, pulling it closer to me and hugging it. Peeta Mellark can be so frustrating to me at times. There's this weird deep side to him that I can never seem to get a grasp of and never fully understand. It makes me feel stupid, truth be told, like I can't see things on the same level as he can. He never calls attention to it, doesn't seem to be aware of it even, but it aggravates me all the same.

The more I think about what he said tonight the more I start to wonder if he wasn't in fact saying that he will not prioritise Tommy's survival at any cost and while I don't understand what that might actually mean I don't like the idea of questioning his commitment. He can't give up now, cannot falter no matter what happens. Our nephew depends on him, his family back home in Twelve depend on him, _I_ depend on him.

Peeta is going to have to pull himself together. Fast.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the last update on TCYDT this is posted without proof-reading. Parts of it were written a while ago though so at least I've read through parts of it before. Since I've only got about ten minutes to get this thing uploaded I won't say anything else at the moment except I hope the chapter holds up!

Once we have crossed that bridge and had sex for the first time things change. Losing my virginity was really all I wanted, at least for right now until Snow begins to set higher demands, but I find myself longing for the touch of Peeta's skin and for that closeness I felt when it was over. Now that we have been sexually intimate with each other Peeta is not as reluctant anymore, though the second time we sleep together I can see in his eyes that he wishes it could be something more. Making love instead of having sex.

He is still adamant that we avoid having children if we possibly can. His determination on this subject is even stronger than my own, probably because I see it as inevitable in order to protect our loved ones while Peeta is determined to find a loophole somewhere. The trouble is we can't discuss our options without speaking fairly openly and I'm still uncomfortable talking about sex. It never seems to bother Peeta, maybe because he has previous experience or maybe because I'm just more innocent, which I know he's thinking but lucky for him he isn't saying. When we first sit down to talk about it my cheeks are burning red and I avoid his eyes, sitting cross-legged on the bed hugging a pillow to my chest. Peeta is stretched out on his back, lifting himself up on his elbows, seeming much more at ease.

"There is the obvious" he says. "Pulling out. Works if I can actually remember to do it but there's also the risk of not pulling out in time or fast enough."

My cheeks turn even redder and I turn my face away further, trying not to picture what he is describing.

"If you say so" I manage in a croaking voice.

"There's also… safe periods" he continues, sounding a touch more hesitant now. "Tracking your cycle, being aware of when it's safe to…"

"That's a very unsafe method" I say, remembering what my mother told me once. "Cycles can differ from month to month and…" I remember the dinner we had on the train, heading for our honeymoon, when I tried to explain this particular phenomenon to him. I don't think I'll do much better this time around so I don't even try. "It's not a good method, anyway."

"Okay, what else is there?" he says, sounding almost business-like. "Condoms are hard to come by but they are quite effective. I can get some, but it won't be more than five to ten per quarterly. Also we'd have to be very careful. I would have to ask Ryean or Scotti to buy them for us. Snow and company won't be happy finding out we're using them even if we claimed it's to avoid suffering through another miscarriage."

I'm mortified at the mere thought of Peeta asking his brothers to buy condoms for us. At the same time they do seem like a safe alternative so I don't dare to completely dismiss the idea either.

"Okay" I nod. "Yeah, sure."

"Your mother, she's an apothecary, right? Kind of?"

"You're thinking herbal contraceptives?" I ask, probably using that last word for the first time in my life. "They're not really effective either. I know she can induce a miscarriage, well abortion actually, but it's quite dangerous and apparently a hellish experience."

"Plus we can't risk being found out having an abortion" mutters Peeta. Then he smirks at me. "Of course, there are some things we can do that guarantee we won't get pregnant."

"Like what?"

For the first time during this conversation, or during any conversation about sex as I recall, he blushes. It's only a little bit of a blush but I find it very endearing and it relaxes me to know that he's not one hundred percent comfortable either and that I'm not the only one who's nervous.

"There's using hands" he begins, holding up a finger. "There's using our mouths." Another finger raised. I'm taken aback by his words but before I can ask or comment he lifts a third finger. "Then there's something that I know a few married couples do when they don't want to have any more kids, or don't want to have kids period, which is… Well, maybe we don't even need to talk about it because honestly the thought of it makes me a bit uncomfortable so I don't see us doing it."

His blush has deepened and so has my curiosity but if he's uncomfortable talking about it I presume I'm not ready to hear about it. And as he says, if he doesn't want to do it then we won't be doing it.

"So how would we… be using our mouths?" I ask, feeling myself blush way worse than he is.

The blush leaves his face and a charming, slightly bashful smile appears in its place.

"I haven't tried it with anyone before but from what I hear it's… quite nice." He shifts on the bed and moves closer to me, stopping to gently caress my cheek with the back of his hand. "It's pretty self-explanatory."

"Yeah well I don't get it" I say testily, not enjoying feeling like an idiot.

"We would be making each other feel good… using our mouths." His face has moved closer to mine and his lips are so close to brushing against mine. I want to move that last millimetre that separates us but if he is teasing me I'm not willing to give in just yet.

Besides, the thought of what he just implied makes me a bit unsure. I scowl and pull back a bit.

"You mean..?"

"I mean exactly what it sounds like, Katniss." His voice has dropped an octave but my mind is too busy trying to picture what he is implying, not at all sure I like it, to notice. He seems to be picking up on my reaction because his voice is back to normal when he continues. "It's something to think about. Something we could try at some point if we feel comfortable." He shrugs a shoulder. "An option."

I notice how he says if  _we_  feel comfortable, even though it seems quite obvious to me that he's not only comfortable with the idea but rather interested in trying it. That he phrases it like that makes me feel a bit more at ease and like I can trust him fully when it comes to bedroom activities. There's no part of me that doubts that I am completely safe with Peeta and that he would never make me do something I'm not comfortable with.

That thought is actually a little arousing. So is the look in his eyes, a touch darker blue in this moment it seems. I lean closer to him again, my lips just a hair's width from his, teasing him in return.

"And what about… our hands?" I ask in what I deeply hope is a seductive voice. "Show me how we can make do with those."

* * *

Sunday comes around and I follow Peeta to town as per routine, only nowadays I can't head out into the woods while he's with his family. He's invited me to come with him and play with baby Tommy but I don't enjoy babies all that much and chances are I'll be stuck listening to Allie and Scottie go on and on and on about their upcoming addition to the family. There's also an odd feeling at the pit of my stomach, a kind of nervousness at seeing my in-laws just a few days after becoming sexually active with Peeta. I wonder if one can read it on my face and if one can I'd really not have Mrs. Mellark do so. I decline the invitation and head for the Hob instead.

The Hob is as busy as usual, though the mood is definitely not quite what it was before my accident in the woods and the fallout that came after. Greasy Sae still treats me kindly and I buy a bowl of soup from her and hop up on her countertop to shoot the breeze. She's not much for gossip, or conversation to be honest, but through some of her customers I manage to get a few updates on what's going on with people outside the Village. Gale does not show up, which disappoints me but also makes me relieved. If there's anyone I want less to be able to tell I've had sex than Mrs. Mellark it's Gale. I don't know how he would react to finding out and I don't know how I'd feel about him knowing.

I'm in the middle of hearing a story about a mix-up that happened at the tesserae registration when Darius, one of the peacekeepers I dislike the least, comes walking in. I haven't seen him in a while and offer him a smile which he returns with enthusiasm that makes me feel warm and welcome. At least he doesn't seem bothered by the lack of Capitol endorsed food at the Harvest Feast but on the other hand I doubt peacekeepers have to starve even in an outline district.

"Keeping busy, Everdeen?" he asks with a grin, leaning against Sae's countertop. "Sorry, Mellark."

"Being idle" I reply.

"Victors always end up that way" he says with a dramatic sigh, as if he's world-weary and wise with old age.

I shake my head, barely keeping a smile away.

"Can't work on my talent all day every day."

He orders soup from Greasy Sae and joins the conversation. We're a group of five at this point but still no sight of Gale. I kind of want to ask about his whereabouts, mostly because I'm worried he might be doing something stupid and dangerous like trying to find a way to get over the electrified fences. I can think of few things that would darken my day as much as Gale being brought to my mother, electrocuted. I hold my tongue however, not sure if asking is the best idea.

After about half an hour Darius excuses himself, claiming that his lunch break is over. He looks at me and nods to the door, silently beckoning me to come with him. I jump down from Sae's counter and follow him, a nervous knot in my stomach.

"Something wrong?" I ask in a whisper once we're outside and have retreated behind a thick beam to be at least a little bit out of sight.

"Listen…" says Darius in a voice so low I can barely hear him. "There's a spot of the fence that isn't working properly. A spot where the electricity doesn't run through. It's only a meter long, this spot, but a meter could be sufficient…"

"I don't go out into the woods anymore, Darius" I whisper back, trying to sound disinterested in the information he's giving me.

"Katniss you know I would never turn you in" he whispers back and looking into his eyes I know I can trust him. He's had ample opportunity to get me into trouble for my unlawful foraying in the woods in the past but he never has. "Look, I'm all for order and control and hail the Capitol and the president and all of that… I just don't like seeing people starve and I don't see what the harm is in letting a pair of young adults go out into the forest to procure some meat. I happen to think it's better for productivity if people can fill their bellies."

"I…" I begin but I can't seem to find a suitable thing to say in reply.

He grabs a piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it in my hand. It's wrinkly, like it's been folded numerous times and on top of that been crunched up now and then. Then he straightens his back, pulls his shoulders back and lifts his chin in a much more formal peacekeeper stance. He leaves me and walks out to the street heading for wherever he's supposed to be after his lunch break.

I look down at the piece of paper in my hand and almost unfold it here and now but come to my senses quickly enough to shove it into my pocket. I then find the nearest clock to find the time. Forty-five minutes until I'm supposed to meet up with Peeta. I decide to take a walk to my old home in the Seam. I can read the note there in some measure of peace and solitude. There's no denying that there's a smile on my face as I contemplate what Darius was telling me. A chance to go out hunting after all. I would love to be able to do that.

The only question is – can Gale and I do so without being detected? What would be the cost if we were found out? I will have to talk it over with Haymitch and Peeta before making any decisions. I wouldn't dare to take any such risks without having some input from other people who know Snow as well as I do.

* * *

We gather in the kitchen that afternoon, Peeta, Haymitch and I, to discuss Darius' proposition. All day I've been going back and forth between feeling excited over the idea and feeling scared that it might bring more trouble than it's worth and put us all in an even worse position. I long to be out in the woods, long so much it makes me itch, but I have to be smart about this. I really do not want to find out what President Snow will do if I'm found hunting again.

Haymitch leans back on a chair and puts his feet up on the chair beside him, ignoring Peeta's angry protests that his muddy shoes are dirtying the furniture. With a frustrated scowl I grab a hold of my old mentor's feet, lift them up and plop them down on the floor again, pulling the chair away from his reach. This lands me in a five minute hissing match with Haymitch but at least Peeta is pleased. He begins to work on dinner, whistling to himself, ignoring the argument except to give me a smile and a wink.

My debate with Haymitch is interrupted by a knock on the door. I tense up, immediately worrying that it might be a peacekeeper who's gotten word of what transpired between Darius and me earlier in the day, but Peeta remains calm and collected. He wipes his hand on a towel and goes to answer the door.

"That must be Gale."

"Gale?" I echo.

"Yeah" he says in a tone that's almost a bit surprised at my reaction. "I invited him over. This discussion concerns him as much as anyone else here, don't you think?"

As he goes to answer the door I withdraw to a corner of the room and wrap my arms over my chest, feeling highly uncomfortable. I realize I definitely don't want to come face to face with Gale right now in the home I share with Peeta, with Peeta present. I can only imagine how awkward it will be if,  _when_ , Gale puts two and two together and realizes that while he went to bed alone in a cold house in the Seam last night I went to bed with Peeta's fingers exploring places Gale will never know, making me feel things he will never make me feel. I feel a bit like I've betrayed Gale and I don't think it's fair to him that she should find out in this place and with Peeta present. Though there's nothing I can do about it right now. I can only hope it's not so glaringly obvious what's going on between Peeta and I that Gale won't figure it out. After all, Haymitch hasn't commented and I expected him to be the first to come with a witty remark.

I hear Peeta's voice greet Gale's and some awkward small talk between them. A moment later Peeta comes back to the kitchen, heading for the counter where he's preparing dinner, and Gale walks in a second later. He looks at me and lights up a little and I manage to smile in return.

"So I take it there's something serious going on" says Gale, looking deep into my eyes, making me want to avert my face. "Catnip you look like you're got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Well, it's complicated" says Peeta when I don't reply. "It concerns the possibility of you two going back out into the woods."

I look over at him and find myself slightly amazed at how casual and  _normal_  he sounds. As if everything is just the same as it was last week. Nobody would be able to tell from looking at Peeta that he's now my husband in the physical sense of the word too. Not that I expected him to boast or gloat in front of Gale but I can barely contain the new world of emotions that's been rushing through me these past few days and I cannot understand how he is able to.

He opens the oven and places a tin of fish-au-gratin which he began preparing a while ago. Then he takes to preparing mashed potatoes and seems entirely unconcerned with anything else going on in the room, as if the matter at hand isn't something he's particularly involved with. I suppose in some ways he isn't. He won't be going out hunting no matter what is decided and Haymitch knows much more than he does about how to think and act in matters of the Capitol. The only real input he would have to offer is whether or not it's worth the risk in the end and whether or not he wants his wife out in the woods with another man. Thus far he's never objected to that but perhaps he would now that things have changed?

"Katniss?"

Haymitch's voice brings me back to the moment at hand and I look over to see both him and Gale looking at me, waiting for me to say something. Trying my best to force all thoughts of Peeta and states of undress from my mind I launch into a brief description of the run-in I had with Darius earlier in the day.

If I thought it would be an easy matter to resolve, which I didn't really, I was wrong. Pros and cons are brought up and weighed against each other. Gale argues for us going out to the woods again and Haymitch argues against. Peeta offers hardly any comment except to announce that dinner is served, having busied himself with setting the table and finishing up the cooking while the discussion has been going on. There's an awkward moment when Gale sits down at the table with us and I'm not sure what to think or feel when Peeta serves him dinner but I swallow the confusing feelings and try to wrap my mind around the situation at hand.

It takes until the end of the meal for us to reach any form of conclusion on the matter. In fact it takes until Peeta is halfway done cleaning up but at least Haymitch, Gale and I are agreed at that point. Haymitch turns his eyes to Peeta and asks him what he thinks and my husband weighs in for the first time during the discussion.

"I have food on my table no matter what we decide today" he says carefully. "So does my family. It's not easy to assess how necessary the hunting would be since I don't depend on it for sustenance." His brow furrows as he picks up a washed plate and begins to wipe it dry with a kitchen towel. "Nor do I fully understand the perils of antagonising President Snow on this particular matter." He pauses for a minute, deep in thought. I can hear Gale shifting restlessly on his chair but he doesn't say anything. "At the end of the day I can't say I'm comfortable with you running around out there under the current circumstances, Katniss. On the other hand I know you won't be happy unless you get to be out there. I think people will be able to find some way to feed themselves with or without your hunting, they always have before. You can only hunt so much, and if they can't feed themselves that burden can't be ours to bear for an entire district. I also think that if President Snow wants to find a way to punish us he'll find one, whether you're on this side of the fence or not. So I leave it up to you to decide."

Momentarily choosing to forget about Gale and Haymitch I step closer to him and look him in the eye, trying to read any hidden opinions or meanings in his blue eyes. It feels so different to make eye contact with him nowadays, even in a moment like this – in a good way. All I can find though when our eyes meet is the same steadiness and reassurance that is so typical of Peeta. I know he means what he said. He'll support our decision no matter what it is.

Crossing my arms over my chest I turn to the other two.

"Hunting it is, then. On a small scale. Very carefully."

Gale's face lights up in a wide grin and he rises to his feet, moving closer to me before remembering that he's in my kitchen with my husband a few feet away. The grin remains on his face though as he scratches the back of his neck and shrugs lightly.

"So I guess you and I will be meeting up as usual on Sunday, huh?"

"Yeah" I nod, feeling both relieved, nervous and excited.

"Well then that's settled" says Haymitch, slapping his hands on his thighs and getting up from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, there's a bottle of white liquor with my name on it."

Gale opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind. He gives me a small, crooked smile and nods slightly.

"I should be heading back as well. I didn't plan on staying quite this long… Though thanks for dinner!"

"No problem" answers Peeta, who's back to finishing up with the dishes.

Before I can decide if I should walk Gale to the door or not he follows Haymitch out the kitchen door, giving me a smile and a wave as he goes. The room seems very quiet when the two of them have closed the door behind them, even though the faucet is running. I look over at Peeta who is just finishing up.

"Would you really rather I didn't go out there anymore?" I ask, not sure what else to say right now.

"I'd rather you do whatever you think is best" he answers, wiping his hands on the by now rather damp kitchen towel. "I don't think you'll do so well having to stay away from the woods permanently. Just… be careful, okay?"

I smile slightly and a flood of warmth rushes through me. It's almost enough to cancel out the awkwardness of being in the same room with both Peeta and Gale tonight. Almost.

"Do you… Do you suppose he knows?" I ask.

"That who knows about what?"

"Gale. About… what's been happening. You and me."

There's a look on Peeta's face I can't read but I can guess what it is about. Disappointment probably. He doesn't voice any such emotion but I know him well and I suppose it's the only natural reaction.

"No I don't think he knows" he says after a moment.

"I hope that's the case." Feeling the need to placate him a bit I quickly continue. "He wouldn't understand."

"Well you know him better than I do" shrugs Peeta. He hesitates but then he goes over to the table where we keep the mail. He placed his satchel there when he came home earlier in the day and now he reaches inside it. "While we're on the subject of, well, marital activities… I'm not saying this is something we should use tonight but I thought I'd show you before I forget."

"Show me what?" I ask, my curiosity woken. His hand finds what it was looking for and he holds said hand out to me. In his open palm lies a box just about the size of his hand. "What is it?"

"Condoms." My cheeks seem to turn fiery red but if he notices he doesn't let it show. "Scotti gave them to me. They don't need them after all, can't get Allie pregnant when she already  _is_  pregnant. Scotti isn't entirely adverse to being our dealer, as it were."

My blush deepens. As if worrying about coming face to face with Gale wasn't bad enough I am now convinced I will die from embarrassment the next time I see Peeta's oldest brother. It's not like there is more than one thing Peeta could have in mind when asking his brother to procure them, no chance of Scotti thinking they're for some purer purpose. I don't expect the discreet Scotti to make any comments, silently thanking my lucky star that Peeta asked him and not Ryean, but just knowing that he knows what Peeta and I do together at night makes me squirm inside.

"I'll go ahead and put them away in the cabinet in the bathroom" says Peeta, closing his hand around the box. He heads for the staircase and doesn't turn his head when he continues to talk. "Scotti says there are maybe six left. Him and Allie got a set each quarterly between engagement and getting married but didn't get a chance to use them much. It won't be the same as not wearing one but it's probably the safest way to avoid conception shy of abstinence."

He goes up the stairs and as I watch his retreating figure I almost forget about Gale and Scotti and entertain the idea of suggesting we try one right away. Then I dismiss the thought. Peeta doesn't seem to be in the mood at all and I don't want to push him. We have the rest of our lives together to try them, anyway.

We can wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Turns out being out in the woods again isn't as lovely and relaxing as I thought it would be. I've always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, that being out here has its risks but those risks seemed mostly theoretical before. The peacekeepers were my loyal customers, after all. Now things are different and the consequences of getting caught will strike hard on innocent people who had no say in Gale and I being out here to begin with. It's hard to relax and enjoy yourself with that hanging over your head.

Especially when the alternative was to stay at home and play in bed with Peeta. We've been doing a lot of that lately. We try to ration the condoms but it's difficult. I like when we use our hands to make each other feel good and last night Peeta tried using his mouth which I was nervous about but in the end it was beyond words. But, when we do those things I miss feeling his skin pressed up against mine the way it only can when we're joined below the waist and our upper bodies can align. Also, I can't lie, I really enjoy the way it feels when he is inside me. There's something decadent about it, at least to a person as supposedly  _innocent_  as me, and it makes me feel things – emotional and physical – that I can't seem to stop wanting more.

Under those circumstances being out in the woods with Gale is not as nice as it used to be. We meet up early on Sunday morning and I find myself getting impatient as he wants to sit in our glade, drink hot broth and just talk for well over an hour before we get moving. Once we get to the active hunting part I'm at the top of my game though my hunting partner doesn't know that I'm motivated by a desire to head back home as soon as possible. Before noon I stop and suggest that we call it a day.

"We've got enough, don't we?" I say, picking up my game bag from the ground.

"I saw a flock of wild turkeys on my way out here" answers Gale. "They were heading south. We could go after them, shoot us a bird each."

"But we don't need them" I argue. "We've got a pair of good catches already and you know it's not a good idea to bring home more meat than we can finish in a few days' time." Gale and his family have very limited conditions to preserve meat for any longer period of time. They have a small freezer box that can hold maybe two or three pounds of meat. The rest will need to be eaten very quickly, or thrown away.

"We could sell it" argues Gale. "Turkey meat goes for a lot with the peacekeepers and if we offer to pluck the birds we can trade the feathers. Hell we could even pluck them first and sell them later."

I think of how much time it would require to pluck a pair of turkeys and then trade them. I glance up at the sun, judging it to be near noon already. I'm impatient to get back home and plucking turkeys does not seem worth it. I want to get back home to Peeta, back into bed with Peeta. I've never known pleasure like what he makes me feel during sex could exist and it's becoming a craving, my mind constantly going back to it even while out hunting. It would be different if we hadn't had any success yet today but Gale has a quail in his game bag and if he wants to he can have my rabbit as well.

"I don't know, Gale" I say. "Seems like it would take too long."

"Take too long?" echoes Gale, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you think hunting  _takes too long_?"

"It's not just the hunting, though" I point out. "It's also the plucking and the trading. It's going to take us hours."

"So what? Are you in a hurry? Got something better to do?"

I look away, feeling my cheeks burning red. I am in a hurry but I feel embarrassed letting Gale know the reason why. Not to mention it seems cruel to tell him that I would rather be at home in bed with Peeta moving inside of me than be out here helping Gale provide for himself and his family. The more I think about it the more selfish and horrible I feel but it doesn't make much of a difference because Gale obviously saw the blush on my cheeks and he sighs tiredly, picking his own game bag up.

"Fine. You can have it your way." He sounds weary, dejected. "I guess we don't have enough room in our game bags to bring all the feathers home anyway."

"I'm sorry, Gale" I say sheepishly. "I can help you shoot a pair of turkeys but…"

"I can manage on my own" he says matter-of-factly. He looks deeply unhappy and I step closer to him but he backs away. "Katniss please… Don't pity me."

"I'm not pitying you" I say. "I just realized how selfish I was being."

"You know… These hours in the woods with you on Sunday… It's what I live for." He adjusts the game bag over his shoulder, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He then looks away, eyes locking on the blackberry bush we love to pick berries off of. "Six days a week I break my back in those cold, dark mines. The mines that killed my father, killed  _your_  father. I barely make enough money to feed my family and I draw strength from the thought that come Sunday you and I will meet up here in the woods and hunt."

"Gale…" I say, uneasily shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

"I haven't realized until now, haven't wanted to I guess… These Sundays with me out here don't mean nearly as much to you as they do to me."

"That's not fair."

"I'm not criticising you" he says gently. "It's just the way things are. You have seven days out of the week to spend out here and I know you go hunting without me. It's a luxury you have and I don't begrudge you that, honestly I don't. You didn't choose to have Prim reaped and I know you never wanted any of the changes that came with winning the Games. All the same we're fooling ourselves if we think things could continue on as before indefinitely." He looks at me, pain and resignation in his grey eyes. "You have a husband waiting for you at home. It seems you're eager to get back to him."

"I always have time for you, Gale" I say, stepping closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Because I'm unhappy. That's one of the two sure-fire ways for me to get your attention. Katniss you draw me closer whenever you're having problems with him and when things are good with him you push me aside. Unless I'm in pain."

He doesn't say it as an accusation but it feels as such all the same.

"That is  _not_  true" I say. "Yes, I admit, things are good between me and Peeta right now. That doesn't mean I don't care about you anymore."

"Is he touching you now?" asks Gale calmly. "Maybe even… sleeping with you?" My cheeks turn hot red again and I look away. Gale nods slightly. "I thought so. You haven't sought out any physical closeness from me today, or any day lately. You don't need it. You get it from him."

"Gale you are  _not_  being fair" I argue. "You  _can't_  give me the kind of physical intimacy I've recently shared with him. What you can give me, what we can give to each other, is the friendship we've shared for more than five years. It was always enough before. Why can't it be enough now?"

"Because I love you" he says flatly. "Because we are no longer equals. I live in the Seam and struggle for survival, struggle to keep starvation at bay and my brothers and sister clothed and warm and protected. You, you live in the Victors' Village with enough money to last for three lifetimes, your family warm and with their bellies full and you live with another man. That's not your fault, the difference in our lives I mean, but that doesn't change the facts. Whatever it is you feel for him it's something I want to have from you but I can't."

"I love you" I say. "You're part of my family. I want to help you provide for your family and you should accept my help because you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed. Gale you're still my best friend."

"Am I though?" he challenges. "Look, you and I we… we used to be this close-knit team, relying on each other for survival. You're still part of a team like that but it's not with me. Not anymore."

Our eyes meet and for over a minute we stand there looking at each other in silence. I come to realize that this could very well be the ending of our friendship, at least as I've known it, and the greatest surprise is that it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. By the look in Gale's eyes I think we're both feeling the same thing: Resignation. It's been heading in this direction for a long time and no matter how sad it is to go our separate ways I can't deny that our friendship hasn't been working like it ought to.

Gale is the first to look away. He nods in the direction where he saw the turkeys.

"I'm going to go see if I can bring home one or two of those birds" he says.

"Okay" I say. "Happy hunting."

He nods and turns away, walking off into the woods, leaving me alone underneath the trees. I feel sad watching him leave and I can't imagine what my life will be like without him in it. I head homeward, feeling none of my earlier excitement. The walk seems lonely and as I pass by the Hob I can't help but look in that direction, wondering if I will ever be going in there with Gale again to sell and trade.

When I reach my house I walk heavily up the steps to the front porch and slip the game bag from my shoulder, taking it in my hand. I walk inside, a bit surprised and disappointed that I'm not greeted by the smell of baking bread. Working on autopilot I remove my outerwear and take the rabbit from my bag. The kitchen is empty and I decide not to prepare my kill just yet. Instead I wrap it in a plastic bag and put it in the refrigerator, saving it until dinner.

I walk up the stairs and feel a sting of disappointment that the house is so quiet. Is Peeta not at home? I've spent all morning longing to come home to him and even though the desire to have sex has completely gone away I still feel an odd sense of rejection at the thought that he might not have shared in my thoughts.

With weary steps I go to the bathroom and begin to run a bath. Standing in front of the mirror I scowl at myself as I begin to unbutton my sweaty, stained blouse. What a splendid person I turned out to be. I've treated Gale horribly over the last months, using him as a substitute for the physical closeness I haven't gotten from Peeta. I should have realized that Gale minded, that he felt hurt that I didn't seek that closeness for the same reason as he wanted it. In the end I ended up losing my best friend and I can't say I didn't deserve it. I can only hope Gale finds what he wanted from me in somebody else. Somebody who deserves him. Somebody completely different from me.

The bathroom door opens and I'm surprised to see Peeta standing there. So he was home after all. He looks at me with a frown. There are smudges of white and yellow paint on his left cheek, and a bit of red paint in one strand of his hair so he must have been in his drawing room.

"Is everything okay Katniss?" he asks. "You look… Well, kind of… You look like hell."

I nod and as I do so my face scrunches up and I begin to cry. An instant later Peeta is there with me, wrapping me in his embrace, protecting me in his arms. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face at the nape of his neck.

"I think… I think my friendship with Gale is really over now" I tell him.

He shushes me gently and rocks me softly back and forth.

"It doesn't have to be…" he says with encouragement. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't even know, really" I sniffle, finding it hard to express what our conversation was truly about to someone who isn't in the know of the exact relationship between Gale and myself.

"If you were mad at each other that will blow over. It will be alright."

"I'm not so sure."

"Katniss… Do you  _want_  things to turn out alright?"

He pulls back and looks straight into my eyes. For the first time I allow myself to think how I would answer such a question. Do I want to remain friends with Gale? It's been such a difficult friendship over the past few years. Peeta patiently waits for me to say anything and in the silence between us it dawns on me that Gale is right. Peeta is my best friend now. Peeta has replaced Gale in my life, more or less. I haven't wanted to acknowledge it until now and I can't bear to think how hurtful it must be to Gale, the person left behind.

Yet all the same…

"I'm a bit relieved" I admit.

"It's okay to be relieved."

"It's not" I say, more tears falling down my cheeks. "It makes me a horrible and disloyal friend."

"It makes you human" he argues gently, his thumb wiping away a tear from my cheek. I draw him close for another hug, sobbing lightly as his arms offer me comfort, love and support. "Even the closest of friendships  _can_  end. Life just works that way. People grow apart. That doesn't mean you don't cherish the friendship you shared or that the other person wasn't important in your life. It just means that you and Gale are on different paths now. Besides, not being friends anymore doesn't have to mean being foes."

"Then what does it mean? That we'll be indifferent to each other?"

"I guess you'll be acquaintances" says Peeta with a touch of hesitance. His hand finds the rubber band that holds my braid together and pulls it away. His fingers then comb through my hair, letting it all fall loose. "If your friendship as you've known it really is over you might even find you get along more easily now when you do see each other."

"That sounds insane" I mutter.

"Doesn't mean it can't be true."

I sigh heavily and rest my cheek against his shoulder. I realize that all the changes that the Hunger Games brought into my life is what planted the seed of the destruction of Gale's and my friendship but I also realize that I actively made choices that brought us to this point. I chose Peeta over Gale, in more ways than the ones I  _had_  to. I cannot deny that being held in Peeta's embrace feels better and more comforting than Gale holding me in his arms. Nor can I deny that when I have a problem to solve I'd rather go to Peeta for advice.

"I still feel like crap" I say. "Partially because Gale is alone now and I have you."

"He is not alone" says Peeta with so much reassurance that I almost believe him. "He has a mother and two brothers and a sister. He has a lot of friends in the mines. He's also got the eyes of several young women in the district. I'm not saying he's not going to miss you because there's nobody out there even remotely like you… but he's not going to be alone."

A faint smile comes over my face. There is some truth to what he is saying. There's also a small voice in the back of my mind saying that I cannot take responsibility for whether Gale has someone or not. Ultimately that is up to him, not me.

I pull back from Peeta's embrace and my smile widens a touch as I study the various splotches of paint on him. The tips of my right index and middle finger trace the stains on his cheek.

"You need a bath."

"Do I have paint on me?" he asks, looking a little embarrassed. "Sometimes I get carried away, I guess…"

My smile is quite wide by now and I lean in to kiss him before taking his hand and moving back towards the tub which is by now almost full of bathwater.

"Yes I know. It so happens I was just about to take a bath myself…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the possible end of the Katniss/Gale friendship has been the topic of previous chapters as well but this is where it actually reaches the end of the line. I'll probably bring Gale back for future chapters but from this point on he and Katniss won't be spending much time together anymore.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably seems like a very short chapter for such a long "hiatus". It was a very difficult chapter for me to write, not just because I had writer's block but because writing arena action makes me a bit uncomfortable. I should have thought of that before I began writing this fic, shouldn't I?

Two days pass without a single casualty. With each hour that goes by our anxiety grows. It won't be long now until the gamemakers become desperate for some good action and take it upon themselves to be the architects behind it. When that happens all bets are off. Will they throw a random wrench into the Games and let the chips fall where they may? Will they go after a specific tribute and if so which one – the most popular or the least popular or someone chosen on different criteria?

The one saving grace, I suppose, is that the career pack is already beginning to turn on each other. Ellie seems to have been genuinely fond of the girl from Two and has lost most of her zest, spending far too much time on the ground, hugging her knees while rocking back and forth and crying. The boy from Two, Maximus, is getting progressively more annoyed with her and progressively more aggressive. The boy from One, Lotus, has given up on trying to keep them from arguing with each other and seems more than willing to head off on his own but for whatever reason he still stays. I almost wish he would kill the other two in their sleep, the sooner the better. If he does that then not only will two fierce competitors go down, the viewers will also have their fill of carnage and excitement.

Peeta has a different viewpoint.

"I don't think it's entirely necessary for them to be taken out at this point" he says, leaning back on the couch and stretching out his legs on the divan end. "Look at them. Four is basically broken, which is not so strange. It's kind of similar to Annie Cresta when she saw her district partner be beheaded, this girl seeing her friend getting impaled like that."

"Career tributes don't have friends" I say icily.

"And the boy from Two, he's going to take himself out of the running before long if he keeps this aggression up" continues Peeta. "He lacks the refinement and discipline that has made others channel their rage and aggression into becoming virtual killing machines. He's the type that will do something reckless and premature and probably be so blinded by his anger that he'll fail to protect himself. Hell he might walk into a trap at any moment and I'm half expecting the gamemakers to throw one at his feet right about now to make something happen."

"And take out the fourth career when we're not even halfway through the Games?" I say sceptically. While we talk I reach for the remote and switch over to Sally's feed. "That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"When has it ever?"

"Right, but that's exactly why it might." He gives me a look, his eyebrows raised. "You know as well as I do that people are getting tired with career dominance. Why not attempt to get rid of the entire career pack early on? Leave it to the rest to fight it out? Right now districts Ten, Eleven and Twelve are doing the best with both tributes still alive. Imagine them trying to get those three districts to fight it out?"

"Do you honestly believe that?" I ask, my eyes travelling between the screen and him. "Or are you just hoping?"

"A little bit of both" he says, adjusting to a more comfortable position on the couch.

We watch the screen as Sally, who luckily came across a supply station yesterday, eats a light lunch of beef jerky and water. She looks sleepy, which alarms me. She's been showing signs of lethargy these past two days and I'm blaming the lack of fresh air and sunlight. Who knows how much oxygen the gamemakers are allowing in the arena? Several other tributes are also showing signs of sluggishness and I find myself wondering how long one can live in a place as dark as this without losing one's mind. Is it any wonder they become so sleepy when they never have the sun to tell them what time of day it is? I can only hope that the gamemakers mean to let some sunlight in to them, if for no other purpose than to make them more active again.

"I worry about her" says Peeta, crossing his arms over his chest and observing her with a frown. He's growing less antsy about her rivalling role to Tommy and showing more and more signs of acting like a mentor to her. I didn't expect him to do so as the Games progressed, if anything I expected the opposite. "I can't find her any sponsors unless she does anything to stand out soon. Nor could you, nor could Haymitch. She got lucky with that supply station but what will she do when she runs out of food?"

"I don't know" I say. "I keep hoping she's got some trick up her sleeve, Johanna Mason style, but I worry that her whole strategy going in was to lay low and ride it out, letting the others do the killing and try as best she can to slip under the radar. That might have worked,  _might_ , if it were a normal arena like the one we had. In here, when she can't get food or water from her surroundings, she desperately needs some gusto and some sponsors."

"I think they'll start closing off parts of the labyrinth soon" muses Peeta. "There are only thirteen of them alive, nearly half of them gone, and since the feast there has been no tribute interaction outside the careers."

I nod. I've been thinking the same thing. They have no way to know how to find one another in the maze and the chances of them bumping into each other at random are obviously not so high right now. The area they move around in needs to be smaller if they are to be forced together.

"Want me to switch back to Tommy?" I ask.

"No, that's fine." We were watching Tommy right before I switched to Sally and he wasn't doing much at the time. "How about the main feed? Might give us a hint if anything is about to go down."

I nod and grab the remote to change the channel. Right now neither Claudius nor Caesar are on duty, instead "celebrity guests" are filling in as hosts. They have no other choice than employ such solutions when airing around the clock for sometimes weeks in a row. The fill-in hosts are oftentimes victors who have lost both their tributes this year and thus can give a supposedly objective commentary on events. They are never expected to helm the show the way Caesar and Claudius do but at least it's a voice making comments here and there, something the Capitol audience seems to depend on. For the past four years they have also had a young guy called Hadrian Bartlebuck filling in as co-host for an hour or two each day, either with one of the two main hosts or a guest host. Hadrian is meant to take over the helm once Caesar or Claudius keels over or simply gets to be too old for even Capitol plastic surgery to hide it anymore. He does a fine job, I guess.

Today's guest host is Barley from District 9. He won the 88th Games and this is the first time he's gotten to fill in for the regular hosts. He sounds nervous and awkward and I'm betting he won't be doing the honours very often. I only had to do it once before they decided that I was worthless at it and thankfully spared me from further runs. Peeta has filled in several times, though I know he loathes to do so. They like pairing him up with Johanna Mason or Mach from District 5. Finnick Odair is another popular victor to pair him with but District 4 doesn't usually lose both tributes until late in the game. A handful of times Peeta has done the job alone but he tends to sound too lacklustre without someone to spar against even though I know he tries to do a good job, if only for the sake of peace in our private lives.

We sit there in silence for a while, watching Barley comment on what happens in the arena, which still isn't much of interest. Nobody is even anywhere near a supply station at the moment. The ticking of the clock serves the enhance how slowly time seems to be moving when you're bored and after a while I begin to nod off. I don't even hear Peeta getting up from the couch but when I wake up again it seems about half an hour has gone by and a blanket has been draped over me.

Feeling slightly groggy I walk over to the dining area where I can hear Peeta's and Haymitch's voices. Haymitch is at his usual place at the head of the table and Peeta is next to him, both of them ignoring the ginger cake that has been set out for them. Peeta looks up when he hears me enter but he doesn't stop talking.

"Is  _anyone_  securing sponsor money right now?" he asks Haymitch, who has been out on the town all day and might know more than we do.

"Not today, no" says Haymitch. "Rest assured though that money will come in soon."

"To whom?" I ask, pulling out the chair on his other side. "The careers?"

"Probably to the riveting female tribute of District 12 who has so far done precisely nothing of interest since, well, birth probably" he replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How much of interest can anyone do in that rat hole of an arena?" I counter testily.

"I wonder if Magnus is going to get into trouble over this" muses Peeta. "So far it's shaping up to be a failure. One or two dull days doesn't matter but given the design of the arena it seems like this is going to happen repeatedly."

I sigh and reach across the table for the cake. There's not much point in talking about it, really. It is what it is. All we can do is hold our breaths and wait and hope that the tributes from the other districts will end up running into each other soon or that our own tributes will find some way to impress and entertain. Time is running out, they are both getting short on supplies.

* * *

The lull in the 91st Hunger Games ends that evening, just as the main broadcast is about to come to an end. The timing is hardly a coincidence since what happens is entirely gamemaker controlled. The three careers are walking down a tunnel, the girl listless and weary and the boys bickering with each other and they don't even notice that they're approaching a dead end until they nearly walk straight into the wall. They stop and bicker some more over who lead them down here and where they should be going instead but the angry voices quiet down when a large rumbling noise interrupts them and the ground begins to shake beneath their feet. The wall is parting and all three of them are familiar enough with the Games to know that it's not a matter of a way out of the labyrinth but rather some form of devilry cooked up by the gamemakers. All three of them begin to back away, eager to get away from there but scared to turn their backs to whatever might be emerging.

There's a moment of silence followed by a strange crawling sound and then it comes into view, moving out from the darkness and into the illumination of the torches on the wall. An enormous spider, so large it seems it will barely fit in the narrow tunnel. A creature so big it can only be a mutt and even though I've never had a problem with arachnids I know this thing will haunt me in my nightmares. It's covered in silver grey hair, the joints on its eight legs shining brightly red, and its eyes are large and seem hollow. I've never given any thought to the mouth of a spider before but this one has thick fangs that don't look pleasant in the least and it appears to be drooling. It makes hissing sounds when it exhales, sounds that send shivers down my spine. The only hopeful aspect seems to be that its sheer size makes it hard for it to be agile and fast. At least in the narrower tunnels.

The girl from Four and the boy from Two both scream at the top of their lungs, just scream over and over and over as they back away in horror. The boy from One just stands there in shock, staring at the monster coming towards him. They have about twenty yards of space in-between themselves and the beast but I wouldn't want to be within twenty hundred yards of it. Lotus turns on his heel and runs, as fast as he can, and the action triggers the spider into action. It darts forward, much faster than anyone would have thought it capable of. The other two tributes collapse on the ground, Maximus slightly covering Ellie, and their screams persist. It saves the life of the boy from One since the spider goes for the easier targets and even though he trips and probably scrapes both of his knees he is able to get back up on his feet and disappear into the tunnel.

Since the boy from Two slightly covers the girl from Four he ends up being the first victim of the beast. The spider grabs him and hoists him up in the air, the screams intensifying. I cannot blame him. Those fangs look like they can probably snap him in two. However the spider doesn't bite him. It moves forward, stepping on the girl from Four in the process, her screams turning into a moan and then silence. A few yards further down in the tunnel the spider stops and begins to wrap its prey in silky string, cocooning it like a mummy. All the while the boy is alive and screaming, fighting and fidgeting and trying to get away. Soon he can't move but his face is left uncovered so he can still scream, although his voice is beginning to give out. The spider drops him to the ground and he loudly grunts before beginning to wail. I doubt any actual animal would take pity over something like that and a gamemaker designed mutt definitely doesn't care. It begins to move down the tunnel, dragging the still living boy behind it.

Once the spider has disappeared down the tunnel the girl from four moans again and rolls over on her side. Apparently she's been hurt but not killed though she isn't able to stand up and walk. She clutches her chest and whimpers, using one hand to help drag herself through the tunnel in search of shelter. If the spider comes back she'll be a very easy target.

In the hour that follows the spider mutt makes its way straight to the cornucopia where it drags the by now unconscious boy inside the large horn. It disappears from sight, its hissing exhales echoing for a second, and I shudder at the thought that there are ten tributes out there who don't even know it exists. Any one of them might come to the cornucopia and find themselves face to face with the huge beast. That area is the only fairly wide open space in the entire maze and while that poses danger I can also imagine that most of them will feel the need to go there from time to time. I doubt anybody can stand being in the narrow tunnels for too long.

The spider mutt stays inside the cornucopia for now, together with its prey. What it's doing to the boy is anyone's guess. No cannons go off.

* * *

The following morning I don't want to get out of bed. I've barely slept all night, the image of the spider mutt burning before my eyes and invading my dreams. I've kept Peeta up as well, clinging to him but constantly switching from lying on my side to lying on my stomach to lying on my back. He didn't say a word about it. I suppose he wouldn't have slept much anyway.

Now he sits at the edge of the bed, on my side, his hand running up and down my leg as he watches me. The circles under his eyes seem darker this morning and his hair is a mess. The absence of stubble on his face makes me uncomfortable at times like these, the image of him in the morning somehow not complete without that detail. People here expect to see him without a beard so they make sure he doesn't grow one during the Games. He yawns and lightly pats my knee.

"You want breakfast?" he asks sleepily.

"No."

"Mind if I go get some?"

"Hungry?" I ask dryly. He hasn't seemed that way at any point since Tommy's reaping so I doubt that he is right now.

"I don't mind skipping breakfast" he admits. "I'd like the status update at the table, though. I have a feeling last night's mutt is only the beginning of whatever's going to unfold in there in the upcoming days. You stay in bed if you want to. You could use the sleep."

He gets up and with a groan I wearily push myself up into a sitting position. He stops and gives me a curious look to which I roll my eyes. I toss the comforter aside and throw my legs over the side of the bed.

"Right, let's get the status update."

"Katniss I mean it, stay in bed. I'll bring you up to speed later."

"Like I'll be able to sleep anyway… You go ahead, I'll join you in ten minutes."

He eyes me sceptically for a second and then nods and leaves. I drag myself into the shower, closing my eyes and leaning my brow against the cold tiles. Reaching up my hand I randomly press a button and the next thing I know the smell of caramel apple fills the air. At least I'll smell decent, I suppose. Won't that be a bright spot in what is sure to be a terrible day?

After the shower I get dressed, choosing the most comfortable clothes in my wardrobe since I have no plans on showing my face outside our quarters today, and head out to join the rest of the crew at the breakfast table. To my surprise the mood is fairly bright. Haymitch is sullen as usual and Emalda is a no-show but the stylists are excited about last night's developments. They are decent people, sure, but the two of them are a far cry from Cinna and Portia who would play along to uphold the charade but never seemed genuinely excited about anything that went on in the arena. These two apparently thought the new mutt last night was a stroke of genius.

"Katniss don't you see what this means?" chirps Sally's stylist when she for the fourth time has failed to get any excitement out of me.

"Arachnophobes all over Panem will have nightmares for weeks?" I mutter, shoving a spoonful of grapefruit in my mouth.

"No, no, no. This is all the gamemaker intervention that will be needed for the next few days, perhaps even longer than that!"

I hate to admit it but that's a fair point. The spider mutt is bound to bring excitement and thrills for at least a few more days before the novelty wears off. And even then it poses a threat to the remaining tributes. I do have to wonder though how long they will keep that thing in there. Nobody wants to see twelve tributes murdered by the same mutt, no matter how monstrous that mutt may be.

"I liked the tapestry carving on the wall" says the other stylist to no one in particular. "That was an interesting detail."

"What tapestry carving?" asks Haymitch, his interest suddenly peaked. "On what wall?"

"Didn't you see it?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

"Early this morning they showed that girl from Four."

"She's still alive?" asks Peeta, looking up from the breakfast he's barely eating.

"There have been no cannons at all" says the stylist and I shudder at the thought that there's a boy trapped with that mutt inside the cornucopia, still alive. I remember Cato and his long suffering. I can only hope that if this boy is suffering too they would show us and the fact that they haven't means he's still unconscious and unaware.

"She's still alive" nods the other stylist. "When they showed her they showed the wall behind her in better lighting, you know, the wall the spider came out through."

"And there was a tapestry on it?" questions Haymitch.

"A carving of a tapestry. We didn't get a very close look but it seemed very pretty. Rich in detail. I like to believe that if you get close enough you can see that they've-"

"Why don't we ask the girl from Four?" says Peeta sourly. "I bet she's just dying to crawl over there and get a better look."

"There's no need to get snappy" says the stylist, looking hurt.

"Where's Emalda?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

"Hibernating" says Haymitch, reaching for the marmalade. "She's scared of the eight-legged ones."

"Can't say that I blame her" I mutter, shuddering slightly as I recall the eyes of that enormous mutt in there.

"So what do you suppose happens today?" asks Peeta tiredly, pushing his plate away even though he's only eaten maybe a quarter of what was on it.

"Intense coverage of the hostage situation in the cornucopia I should presume" answers Haymitch, spreading marmalade on his roll.

"How does the halberd fit into all of this?" I ask, the thought suddenly occurring to me. "They made such a huge deal about how it was going to be a huge advantage in the Games. What, some tribute is expected to spear the mutt on that thing?"

"Oh I could see the gamemakers getting off to that visual" notes Peeta, making a face like it deeply disturbs him.

"It can't be that simple though, can it?" I challenge. "They could have sent in a regular spear if that's what they had in mind. It a crossbow for that matter, or an atlatl even. But that thing they put in there? It's got to serve some better purpose."

"Yeah but  _what_?" asks Tommy's stylist.

There's a moment of silence and then Peeta chortles with little mirth.

"It's got us talking and wondering at least." He rises from his seat and nods in the direction of the sitting room to imply where he's heading. "Say what you will but the Games are no longer at risk of becoming boring. At least not for the next few days."

He walks off and I watch him leave, pondering whether or not I should go with him. He's going to check up on Tommy and I ought to do the same for Sally. No canons fired means they're both still alive but they must be getting anxious in there. They have no clue what happened last night. The absence of the canons means there haven't been any fatalities and they must be getting worried that the show is turning dull. Will one of them do something to spice things up? Tributes can get pretty desperate in there wanting something interesting to go down so that the gamemakers won't  _invent_  something interesting.

* * *

It takes several hours for anything particularly exciting to transpire in the arena today despite the "promising" set-up. For the most part they show the poor girl from Four slowly making her way to someplace she might feel a little bit more safe. At one point she removes her jacket and shirt to inspect her wounds and it causes her to groan and turn very pale but at least she doesn't faint. It's difficult to tell in the poor lighting but it looks to me like her sternum has been slightly dented, for lack of a better term, and her chest seems like one big bruise. I can only imagine how painful that is.

"She must have internal bleeding" surmises Peeta when I join him on the couch after spending a few hours trying to decide whether or not to change my outfit and head downstairs to check on Sally but instead falling asleep on the bed. "She can't last long. Can she?"

"If she does have internal bleeding wouldn't she already be dead by now?" I ask, taking the remote he holds out to me. I do wish she would just go ahead and die already. She looks like she's in a lot of pain and I have a very hard time seeing her pull through this to not only survive long enough to win but to also take out some of her fellow tributes. "Anything interesting happening anywhere else?"

"The girl from Ten found a supply station. The  _boy_  from Ten ran smack into the girl from Three about fifty minutes ago."

"Oh?" I say, my interest peaked.

"Yeah they just stared at each other in shock and took off in opposite directions."

"So much for the tributes needing to get closer to one another" I sigh.

"Yeah. No sponsorship money bound to come their way anytime soon."

"Nor Sally's way" I sigh, observing my tribute as she sits by a wall and rocks from side to side. "Nothing new going on with her, it seems." Then I lean forward on the couch and squint. "Where exactly is she anyway? She seems better illuminated than before."

"Let's hope it's not because she's near the cornucopia" says Peeta and we share a look.

I toss the remote back to him and he switches over to Tommy's feed. He's sharpening his scythe with a grim look on his face but other than that nothing much is happening. This year the tributes spend far too much time just sitting around. They really will need to seal off large areas of the arena soon or these kids will never interact at all.

Peeta lifts his arm and motions for me to come closer. I scoot over and settle in against him, his arm coming to rest around me. We sit like that for a long time, watching events unfold on screen. It's a slow day in the arena.

A slow day until we are called to dinner. At that exact moment a tribute, the girl who found the supply station earlier, makes her way out of a tunnel and into the larger cave-like area that houses the cornucopia and the platforms the tributes started on. I feel Peeta's arm tense around me and my own breath hitches in my throat. She has no idea of the danger that lurks here and I wonder if she's at least smart enough to realize that the only somewhat open space makes for a poor hiding place. She looks around carefully before taking several steps out in the open, towards the cornucopia.

"Did the two of you not hear that dinner is here?" gripes Haymitch as he comes walking into the room. "I'm starving so if the two of you haven't grown into the couch perhaps you would like to get your asses up and come…"

He trails off when his eyes land on the screen and he sees what is going on. Slowly he moves closer, stopping right behind us with his hands resting on the back of the couch. He leans in a little and I think I can hear him swallow.

"You think she's going to get too close?" I ask, mostly just to say something and break the tension in the room.

"We'll find out" mutters Haymitch.

The girl from Ten walks maybe ten meters into the cavern and then stops, looking around. A sound coming from behind her catches her attention and she turns to see what the source was. Little does she know that it's most likely a sound generated by gamemakers. If it were another tribute they would probably show us that.

While her back is turned to the cornucopia something begins to move inside it. A silvery grey hairy leg comes out from the shadows, followed by another one. Then comes the head of the spider mutt. How does it move so quietly and smoothly? How close can it get before she hears it?

I guess I won't find out the answer to that question. The girl turns around again and immediately startles at the sight before her. I does not escape my attention that once she lays eyes on the mutt its hissing breathing resumes, having been curiously absent a second ago. I wait for her to either scream or faint or have some other such reaction but aside from the shocked look on her face she actually handles herself quite well. She stands frozen for a second and so does the spider, the two of them glaring at each other. Then the spider lunges forward and she turns and flees, disappearing into the same tunnel she came from which is a very smart move. That particular tunnel holds a side-tunnel not very far in, one where the tributes can't walk upright due to its small size. A few tributes have spent a night or two there but most of them prefer not to sleep in such crowded spaces in case somebody finds them during the night. The mutt seems to know the chase will be futile and stops in its tracks before it even reaches the main tunnel.

As it slowly turns around and begins to move back towards the cornucopia something catches my eye a few seconds before the gamemakers show us a closer look. In one of the other tunnels, standing just outside the reach of the light, is Sally Masters. She looks petrified but determined and she keeps absolutely silent. Has she been silent the whole time? Or was she the one who made that noise before and got the girl from Ten to turn around?

They cut back to the spider mutt as it returns inside the cornucopia. A disturbing sound is heard. Then the shot of a canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the spider mutt thing... I absolutely hate spiders but it's an homage of sorts to Stephen King's "It". Read it if you haven't. It's over a thousand pages long and worth every minute it takes to read.


	28. Chapter 28

It's a peaceful and humid evening. The sound of chirping crickets reaches us from the open windows. It's a sound I've begun to find as soothing as a lullaby; I'm so used to hearing it on summer nights. It's not actually summer yet but it's been a hot and humid spring and the crickets are at it almost every night.

Peeta and I are lying in bed together, side by side, naked and sweating from both the humidity and from the physical activities we've engaged in after bedtime. It's funny how bed, a piece of furniture I've always associated with rest, has become a place where I partake in a lot of physical activity. It's even more funny to think that sex, the activity Snow and his government wants to force us to engage in as part of our punishment, has turned out to be something that binds us together. When we weren't having it we didn't have a good marriage. Now that we have it we're grown closer than ever before.

I turn my head and look at Peeta, feeling a pleasant stir in my heart. I love admiring his body, covered by the sheets only from the hips down, and especially enjoy seeing that light sheen of sweat on him that serves to remind of what we just did together. He is so relaxed after sex, there's no frown on his face or worry in his eyes. A few curly strands of ashen hair stick to his forehead while the rest of his hair is one unruly mop on his head. I don't think he enjoys the pain that comes with me tugging on his hair in the heat of the moment but he's never told me not to.

Little by little his defences have dropped and my own inhibitions and concerns have begun to fade. Peeta takes good care of me between the sheets and together we have evolved the act between us to the point where we both are comfortable and it feels great for us both. Even though we just finished having sex I feel a pleasurable ache in my body at the thought of his open-mouthed kisses, his caresses, the way he moves his body in symbiosis with mine. I wonder how he can be so good at it, how he can know what a woman likes and doesn't like, how he seemed to figure it out before even I did. The pleasant feeling inside of me suddenly goes away when it dawns on me that I know the reason why. I'm not his first lover. There have been other girls before me.

I've thought about that before, several times, but not since we started having sex together. Now the thought grabs hold and gnaws at me, raising a number of uncomfortable questions and mental images that I feel a deep hatred of. Peeta touching another girl the way he touches me. Peeta looking at another girl the way he looks at me in bed, eyes full of lust and want. Some other girl making him moan, making him look the way he looks when he's feeling intense pleasure. I think of some other girl teaching him what to do and him being eager to learn, eager to please.

I'm so caught up in these thoughts that I don't even notice Peeta studying me, his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

I blink, rolling over on my side and propping myself up with my elbow, doing my best to push those thoughts aside.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

His hand reaches up and with his index finger he lightly draws a line from my shoulder down to my waist. The touch is nice but I wonder how many other people he's done that with. Should it even matter?

"You're not that good a liar" he says. "You don't have to tell me, but that you're saying everything's fine when something's bugging you makes me think you're not just worrying about small potatoes."

Realizing it was foolish to think I could hide my state of mind when we're in an intimate moment like this together I decide I might as well spit it out.

"How old were you when you first…"

I trail off, hoping he will understand what I'm asking and pick up the thread. Instead he just looks at me patiently, still seeming a little worried.

"It's okay" he says. "Whatever it is, just ask."

"I guess I'm just curious… if you had… if your first time was before we were in the Games or…"

"Before" he says without pause.

"Oh." I frown, realizing his answer didn't give me much actual information. Thankfully this time he picks up on my line of thought.

"It's okay to ask me about my previous experiences. What do you want to know?"

I swallow hard, wondering if I honestly want to know or if I'd rather be blissfully unaware. Then I realize there's no such thing as  _blissfully_  unaware. Whatever I'm conjuring up in my imagination might be much worse than what actually went on so I'm probably better off getting answers from him.

"How old were you the first time?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly from nervousness. Quickly I throw out some additional questions before I chicken out. "How many were there? Do I know any of them? How did you end up doing… sleeping with them? How many times?" I swallow nervously. "Was it with them as it is with me?"

"Wow" he says. "That's a lot of questions in basically one breath." He rests his head on his hands and turns his eyes towards the ceiling, still sporting a slight frown but seemingly much more relaxed now. "The first time was about a month after my fifteenth birthday. It was with Gemma Gardner. You remember her?"

Unfortunately I do and immediately I picture her in bed with Peeta, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow, her freckled nose wrinkling the way it usually does when she's smiling widely, her blue eyes matching Peeta's. I remember that she was part of Peeta's social circle but I don't recall them ever dating. How did they end up in bed together?

"She and I and two other merchant kids hung out a lot for a couple of years, right around the time when we started to get curious about kissing and touching and, eventually, sex. Gemma's folks work at the Justice Building and consequently were out of the house until around seven every night so we hung out there and, well…" He shrugs. "We tried kissing. We tried kissing with our mouths open. Touching above the clothes, that sort of stuff. Pretty tame. The other two in our little group then went out and got partners outside of our foursome so the kissing and touching stopped. Then one day I went home alone with Gemma after school, having had quite a row with my mother the day before and really wanting to have an excuse to stay out of the house for a few hours more. We sat on her bed and talked about all kinds of stuff, then got to talking about sex and how we were curious about it and eventually one thing led to another." He smiles crookedly. "It was pretty awkward. Limbs bumping into each other that aren't meant to do so during sex, smells and sounds we weren't used to, I… Well, I didn't know where to  _go_  exactly, if you catch my drift, so we had to figure that out together. Since we had almost no idea what the heck we were doing and were eager to find out about the actual merging part of it all we didn't spend much time on foreplay so it was painful for her and that made me feel horrible and…" He shrugs. "Gemma is a sweet girl, I can't say I regretted that afternoon per se, but it wasn't all I had heard it would be. It was fine, it was an experience, and I suppose the important part is that both she and I felt okay when it was over." He looks at my shyly. "Since I knew you were a virgin when we got married I was so damn nervous at the thought of being your  _first_ , of not being able to make you relax and be ready for it, completely terrified that I would hurt you and you would hate the whole thing and… Well, it was nerve-racking."

"You did pretty good" I offer, grudgingly admitting to myself that I'm glad his first time wasn't wonderful.

"Gemma ended up falling for a guy three years older than us a few months later and we drifted apart. Turns out it's difficult to maintain a friendship with someone you had an experience like that with when they are in a relationship. She's married to the guy now; they have two kids."

I'm not so glad anymore hearing that. He's kept track of her? I suppose it's very easy to do so when you live in such a small town but it bothers me nonetheless.

"How many others?"

"One. I was sort of casually seeing Nella Collins the winter before our reaping. We made out at a party and it was pretty nice and we started hanging out more and things progressed from there. It was an okay relationship, if you could call it that, but it never really took off, you know? I liked her but I was much more drawn to you and it turned out she was more into another guy as well so we parted on good terms. We slept together maybe four or five times while we were going out."

"Was it any good?" I ask.

He gives me an amused look and smirks.

"It was fine, thank you. Better than with Gemma since neither one of us was a virgin and we had at least some idea what we were doing but there wasn't any passion between us." There's a touch of warmth in his eyes when he looks at me. "It was most definitely not with her as it is with you. You're the one I've most wanted to sleep with. I think we're pretty good together in bed, don't you?"

I blush, which is ridiculous considering how intimate we've become over the past few months.

"I think we're pretty good together anywhere" I tell him.

* * *

The month of June arrives. It's a hot one this year, much to the dismay of Allie who is due to give birth one month from now. This year I don't go out to the woods with Gale on the morning of the Reaping. Instead I stay in, taking a very long bath with Peeta during which neither one of us speaks two words to each other. We just sit there on opposite ends of the tub, staring mindlessly out into space until the water has gone cold. What else is there to do, anyway?

A pair of twelve year-olds from the Seam are reaped. Everyone knows they stand no chance. I can't even pretend to believe they could make it through so I mostly avoid them. It's a terrible thing to do and I know I would hate me if I were them but they still have Haymitch and Peeta who are much better equipped to handle their training. I only step in to help coach the girl for her interview.

She gets a score of four. He gets a score of three.

They both die at the Cornucopia.

What to do with the rest of our time in the Capitol? I try to tell myself, and Peeta, that it's actually a good thing that they died in the very first hours of the Games. What would be the point of having them suffer in the arena for days or weeks when the outcome would inevitably be the same? Peeta doesn't answer. I think he thinks I'm morbid but at least he doesn't call me so to my face.

A week in to the Games Peeta, Haymitch and I are out in the Capitol, visiting a supposedly quaint little town square with a large, gaudy fountain. I find it hard to see how any place with buildings painted in neon green and red could be considered quaint but I have learned a long time ago not to question Capitol logic. We don't need to be out on the streets, not when we have no tributes left alive, but we risk going crazy if we stay at the Tributes' Centre so when Effie suggested this outing we weren't hesitant to agree.

Peeta and I stand close together waiting in line at a vendor stand, hoping to get something to snack on before we head back for lunch. The cobbled stones feel strange underneath my feet but I can see Peeta studying the patterns that form from the various colours the stones are painted in. While we wait I notice people looking at us, the way they always do in this city, and I can't help but wonder if there is a noticeable difference now. For the first time Peeta and I are lovers for real. We've seen each other naked, touched each other's bodies, made the other experience exquisite pleasure. Does it show? Do we interact differently now? Our body language, does it betray a deeper closeness than we've ever had in the past?

They gave all female mentors an injection to prevent conception when we first arrived, same as they do every year. That is, all female mentors but me. Not that it matters, the last thing Peeta and I have been in the mood for here is sex, but some part of me actually does wonder if someday I will be allowed and injection and if so how long it lasts.

"Lovebirds!"

Haymitch's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Want something to eat?" Peeta asks him, nodding to the vendor. There's only one person in line before us.

"You two can stuff yourselves at a later time. We're not here to enjoy the local cuisine. Have you seen the fountain? It's lovely."

Immediately I scowl. Who cares about the fountain? I'm hungry and we've been in line for fifteen minutes.

"Yeah it's nice" offers Peeta, somewhat hesitantly.

"You should come get a better look."

"Why?" I question.

"Because we're here to see the bloody lovely fountain."

I roll my eyes but Peeta manages to be patient.

"Give us a minute and we'll be there."

"Stop taking up space in the line, the two of you will be having lunch in forty-five minutes" says Haymitch sourly. "You really should come get a better look at the fountain."

I want to protest and tell Haymitch where he can shove the fountain but Peeta, endlessly patient and usually not as hungry as me, takes my hand and drags me from the queue to follow Haymitch. As we make our way towards the fountain I cast a longing look over my shoulder, sighing as the person who was standing behind us gets to place her order. Haymitch leads us right to the edge of the fountain and takes a seat on its marble edge.

"Why is the fountain lovely?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Listen up, both of you" says Haymitch in a hushed voice and I realize why he wanted us by the fountain, its splashing sound drowning out a lot of what is said.

"What's wrong?" asks Peeta worriedly.

"There's a camera somewhere in your bedroom. It's not filming at all times but is has been put there for only one purpose."

"Okay?" I say. I don't follow what he's alluding to but I'm convinced it's not something pleasant.

Peeta's face has gone pale.

"What do they plan on doing with the footage?" he asks in a strained voice. "Never mind, I already know the answer."

"Relax, I don't think it's meant to be broadcasted or sold" says Haymitch. "President Snow wants assurance that you two aren't staying chaste to try and loophole your way out of the children issue."

"I don't think we get off that easily" mutters Peeta. "No pun intended."

My jaw dropped a little at Haymitch's words, and now a little bit more at Peeta's, but I quickly close my mouth, realizing I need to act normal. That's a little bit hard to do though when you've just found out the president wants to watch you having sex with your husband. The mere thought of Snow seeing us do  _that_  makes my skin crawl.

"This is sick" I say with disgust. "How did you even find out about this?"

"At this point this is all a small-scale production" says Haymitch, ignoring my question. "A man called Plutarch Heavensbee will be overlooking it. I think one night of you two performing will suffice but I can't promise you that it will be enough."

"They actually assigned some guy to make a… sex video of us?" says Peeta, looking even paler now.

"He volunteered for the job" says Haymitch. "That's not important anyway. What's important is that you give them what they want. No matter how uncomfortable you find it. Okay?"

"Sure" I mutter. "Fine. Whatever."

"Excellent" says Haymitch dryly.

He walks off, leaving Peeta and me to ourselves. I look at my husband and see the horror in his eyes reflecting my own emotions. How are we going to be able to do this?

* * *

Two days go by without any mention of it. Peeta and I share a great deal of long looks that seem to summarize how we both feel about it but it's hard to know where we can have an actual discussion. I feel uncomfortable even getting naked to take a shower, knowing that there are cameras in the bedroom so why not in the bathroom too? Not that the idea of being nude bothers me per se, I've gotten accustomed to nudity by now, but it's knowing that such an intrusion is being made into our private lives and we're not even supposed to know about it.

On the morning of the second day since our trip to the fountain Peeta joins me in the shower and I realize he wants to talk. While he massages shampoo into his ashen curls he steps closer to me and talks in a low voice right by my ear.

"We should get it over with. Don't you think?"

I swallow and a shiver runs through me. Why does it feel like we're talking about having sex for the first time, like a couple of virgins who just want to check that rite of passage off their list?

"Yeah" I mutter with no enthusiasm. "Sure."

"I was thinking we could probably get away with something a bit… Well, I mean, we might not have to put on a big  _show_. Haymitch said it's mostly Snow wanting to know we're not avoiding sex to avoid pregnancy."

"Yes but how are we supposed to be able to avoid pregnancy?" I ask in an angry hiss. "You can't pull out and we can't use a condom."

"I know. The best we can hope for is safe periods. And speaking of periods, yours is due soon, right?"

I blush heavily and look away. He has shared my bed, and for that matter shared bathrooms with me for a long time now. It's not like doesn't know I have periods, same as I've known from back in our days in the cave that he gets erections in his sleep. That doesn't mean I'm entirely comfortable with it, however. I didn't get my period regularly before I was a Hunger Games victor, we had too little to eat for my cycle to be like clockwork, and I hadn't gotten used to it yet when Peeta and I moved in together. I still worry about blood stains on the sheets in the morning even though Peeta would never comment or think less of me for it. It makes sense to me that he knows my cycle now, especially since I don't want to be intimate with him during those days of the month, but hearing him speak so openly about it makes me a bit uncomfortable.

"Yeah, so?" I finally mumble.

"That ought to be a pretty safe time, right?"

"I don't know" I say.

"Well I think it's our best bet. I suggest we do it tonight and keep it simple and underneath the sheets."

"You think he'll be satisfied by a bobbing sheet?" I question. "He probably wants to see…" My cheeks turn even redder. "Well, body fluids only you can make."

"You're right…" says Peeta, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to rinse the shampoo out. "Under the covers is probably not acceptable. We should think of something, though. I want you to be as comfortable as possible, even if that really only can mean 'as little uncomfortable as possible'."

Wrapping my arms around him I lean in, resting my cheek against his broad chest.

"It's going to be uncomfortable for us both." I close my eyes for a second and sigh, drawing strength from his steadiness and closeness. "I'm so glad I have you. That I'm not alone in any of this."

His arms wrap around me in return and I feel his lips pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.

"I am so glad I have you, too."

* * *

I can barely eat a bite that evening, my stomach a tight knot of nerves. Peeta has his poker face on and seems to be fairing alright but there are small tells in his body language that gives his true state of mind away. The slight tremble to his hand as he grabs the salt shaker. The way he seems to be washing some of his bites down with water, as if he can't muster to swallow otherwise. The way he occasionally runs his hand through his hair. He seems to be making an effort to seem calm and unbothered even to me so that I won't feel worse and because of that I call no attention to his bluff. If he's putting up an effort to seem unaffected for my benefit then I can put up the effort to pretend I don't notice for his.

We call it an early night, both of us wanting to get it over with. In an eerie fashion it all reminds me of how I felt on our wedding night, how nervous and uncomfortable I was that evening and how part of me wished I could just run. Tonight I at least know what I am in for and that it's not going to hurt. On the other hand I know someone is likely going to be watching. I don't feel comfortable with my brothers-in-law knowing we have use for condoms and now I have to have intercourse for someone else's entertainment. Though I suppose if I've killed for that reason a little bit of intimacy should be doable.

We try our best to play it off as just another normal night. We don't want Snow, or whichever one of his goons is in charge of watching and reporting, to catch on that we know what is going on and that we're deliberately putting on a show. Peeta makes small talk while we get ready for bed and I force myself to try and sound natural as I answer. I realize I'm failing quite miserably but trusted Peeta finds a way. As I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to visibly fret, he gets up behind me and stands on his knees, massaging my shoulders in a way that starts out comforting but by and by acquires a touch of seductiveness. He leans in and kisses me right by my ear and then talks soothingly to me.

"It really was horrible this year" he says. "Losing them both so early." His heavy sigh echoes my own emotions. "Poor kids. Far too young."

"They always are" I mumble.

"It will be okay" he says, only half-heartedly attempting to convince me. "We'll be okay. We'll get through it."

I reach up my hand and place it on top of his, causing him to stop massaging me with that hand.

"As long as we have each other" I say.

"Yes" he agrees. "As long as we have each other."

On an impulse I turn and look at him. With my hand I gently tug him down a bit so I can reach his lips with mine and I try to recall how I kiss him when I want to signal to him that I want him. It's not something I've given thought to in the past but I want to be able to copy it without making it glaringly obvious that it's an act.

Our lips part and we look at each other for a long moment. He's trying to be reassuring and on some level so am I but I find it near impossible. I don't want to have to do this in front of anyone. It's nobody's business but ours. They took our choice of spouse away from us and they will take at least one of our children so can't they at least let us have our intimacy to ourselves?

"We should go to bed" says Peeta in a voice a touch lower than usual. It reminds me of the way his voice seems to drop an octave when he's aroused and under different circumstances that would send a thrill through me. Right now all it does is remind me that it's fake.

All the same I nod and rise to get rid of the bedspread.

"Sure" I say, hoping that I sound at least a little bit seductive. My eyes meet again with Peeta's as he moves off the bed too and I wonder if I should say something else, something to the effect that I'm not tired so maybe we don't need to  _sleep_. I decide against it. Better to let Peeta take the lead on this one.

We get into bed and since I'm not sure what else to do I simply fall into my usual routine and rest my head on Peeta's chest. His arms wrap around me and there is a moment of silence. Then he sighs heavily and I look up at him.

"It's going to be a long life of this…" he says. "Year after year after year…"

On instinct my hand reaches up and caresses his cheek in a comforting way. Our eyes meet and since he left his nightstand lamp on I can read the look in them fairly well. I realize that he's probably trying to find a way to get us from this to sex in a manner that will seem natural and that he might be thinking that we should have it start as comforting one another. So on that note I give him a soft kiss and then nuzzle my face against the crook of his neck.

"I would be lost without you" I say.

"I couldn't bear it without you either."

His hands caress me in comforting motions, seemingly innocent in nature, and I respond by trying to move even closer to him. For a few minutes we keep going like that, physically offering one another comfort without anything sexual added to the mix. Then he gives me a kiss and I kiss him back. A series of kisses follow and with them our touches turn less innocent, more needy. It's mostly for show but the desire for comfort is very much reality. It feels quite nice until Peeta shifts us so that I'm on my back with him on top of me and I get a glaring reminder of what we are really doing.

My eyes close hard and I bury my face against his neck, my hands gripping the fabric of his pyjama jacket with a touch of desperation. He shifts a little, pressing his forehead to mine and then kissing a trail from the corner of my eye down to my ear.

"Try and relax, if you can" he whispers. "I know how difficult it is… I wish I could help you get aroused. I don't want this to hurt for you."

Despite everything a smile crosses my lips and I pull back so we can look at each other, his comforting eyes trying to play his part while at the same time ask me for forgiveness for having to do this in the first place.

"It's alright" I whisper, gently caressing his face. "I trust you utterly." I feel so bad for him, having to do this even though he doesn't want to any more than I do and on top of that having to worry about hurting me. It occurs to me that he also needs to get aroused, that unlike me he can't grit his teeth and just get this over with because he has to be able to perform. Right now I can't feel his hardness between my legs. It won't be easier for him to rise to the occasion if he has to worry about me.

Making a decision I sneak my hand down his body and into his pyjama pants. He hisses when I touch his soft manhood and the sound relaxes me a little bit. As I wrap my hand around him and begin to give him attention I keep my eyes focused on his face. My determination grows with each stroke. I can do this. This isn't some monumental task that is being asked of me. It's copulating with my husband, something I do quite often these days and always enjoy. Something beautiful he and I share that we won't ever share with anybody else, despite whatever means of surveillance President Snow might inflict on us. I can do this. Hell, I made it through the Hunger Games. What is this in comparison to that?

"It will be fine" I whisper in his ear, catching his earlobe between my teeth. "I know you'll make it good for me. What we just said is the truth. We can endure most anything as long as we are together. Anything we do together can't be wrong."

He kisses me then, hard, full of pent-up frustration but also longing. I relax a little bit more. This is going to work. This is going to be alright.

Soon I manage to get my top off without moving the covers away and Peeta's hand immediately finds my breasts. Closing my eyes I let my head rest against the pillows and I focus everything on him, trying to ignore the knowledge that someone is probably watching. Normally I would want him to move his mouth to my breasts as well but not when that means possibly exposing them and he seems to understand this because he never makes any attempt to move his face below my neck. Through some awkward fumbling we get all our clothes off and continue to touch and kiss until he is hard and I am at least somewhat aroused myself. There is a moment's pause as Peeta rests his brow to mine.

"I'm going to move the comforter aside now" he whispers. "They won't be satisfied with under-the-covers stuff since they won't be able to tell if we're really…" He harks, then kisses both of cheeks and the tip of my nose. "I'll cover you with my body as best I can, I promise you."

I nod, my eyes still closed. I feel a whiff of cool air as he moves our cover aside and even though it feels like I'm exposing myself I let my knees fall further apart to give him better access. Then he is moving into me and my eyes open on their own accord, wanting to meet with his but finding that his are closed and his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he is trying to restrain himself. He probably wants to move fast, to get this finished as quickly as possible, but he doesn't want to risk hurting me when I'm not as ready as I would normally be. His intrusion doesn't hurt, though it feels a touch uncomfortable. I write it off as being because of the situation.

When he is all the way inside of me his eyes open and I manage to smile at him. He smiles back half-heartedly and then begins to move. My legs wrap around his waist and my arms around his back, my hands finding his shoulders to hold on to. It's eerily quiet,  _he's_  eerily quiet, the only sounds in the room our hushed breaths and our skin slapping together. These Capitol beds don't even have bedsprings that make noise when you have sex. It's a little unnatural to me.

Then after the first minute or two he begins to pepper kisses all over my face and neck, mumbling endearments and grunting every now and then. I close my eyes again and concentrate on the sound of his voice and the feel of him moving between my legs, lovely despite the circumstances. This is my man and he will take care of me and protect me, same as I will always do for him. The thought fills me with affection and helps me respond better to him. He begins to move faster and I hope he will climax soon. I won't be doing so myself, I've already communicated to him not to even try and make that happen, but I do feel pleasure. I'm almost entirely quiet, feeling embarrassed that anyone might hear the sounds I make during intercourse and frankly not enjoying myself quite to the level that I can't stop myself from moaning. But as Peeta begins to move even faster and lifts himself up slightly on his elbows I suddenly regret that I haven't been making a sound. I don't want to give them the pleasure of thinking he might not be a good lover. So I close my eyes, lean my head back and let my back lift off the bed a touch while I moan loudly and then cry out, as if I reached my peak. I moan Peeta's name, for emphasis. I will have them know that if there's anything missing in this bed right now it's not sexual prowess on behalf of my husband.

Peeta says my name too in a guttural growl half a minute later and I feel him finishing inside of me. Not a very powerful orgasm, in fact I'm surprised he managed to climax at all under the circumstances, but when he collapses on top of me he is as spent as if he had just had a powerful finish. With my legs still wrapped around him I run my arms up and down his back in a soothing manner, whispering encouragements in his ear until his breathing slows down.

We share another look and a long closed-mouth kiss. He grabs the comforter lying beside us and manages to pull it back to cover us without moving to expose any part of my body. Once we're safely away from view below the neckline we shift and curl into each other in our old familiar ways and we seek as much comfort from one another as we can. We don't talk. There's nothing to say. I want to know if he's doing okay and I suspect he wants to know the same about me but we can't very well ask each other that so we leave it be.

After he has reached over and turned off the light we lay close together, our noses brushing slightly.

"I love you" he says. It feels like his way of communicating that he is alright and so I want to try and communicate the same thing back.

"Me too" I tell him.

After that, saying those words to each other becomes our way of saying "I'm okay" when we can't speak those words out loud. Our own little code, sometimes tweaked and used in other ways but always with the core meaning of being a reassurance. Never something we have the luxury of using the way other husbands and wives do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was challenging, for two reasons. One - I lost my "continuity file" where I keep track of what things happen when, among other things. The story file itself is over a hundred pages and I couldn't bring myself to read through the whole thing to get the details I needed for this chapter so if there are continuity errors in here that's mainly the reason why. Two - the sex scene at the end. I didn't want it to be erotic but I didn't want it to go too far in the other direction either. I'm not sure I found the right balance but I think it works somewhat.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short but I didn't feel like there was much more to add to it. I wrote it in one sitting and it felt complete when it was done.

"No new developments?"

I ask the question before dropping down on the couch with a huff. It's been a day almost to the minute since the death of the boy from Two and once the horrible crunching sounds had stopped and the spider dragged the body out for a hatch to visibly open and retrieve the body – this particular arena makes it impossible for hovercrafts to retrieve corpses so they've chosen a different method – nothing of interest has happened. The girl from Ten is still hiding in her cramped space and Sally hurried further into her tunnel when the spider came back out. Nobody else has done much of anything.

"Nothing" sighs Peeta, running a hand over his face. "Show's about to start."

I cross my arms over my chest in a sulking fashion and glare at the television, trying to will this horrible round of the Games to come to an end soon. It's torture to have it be so drawn out. All I want is for Tommy to be crowned winner and the rest of them to die as painlessly and peacefully as possible and even though I know it's a naïve idea I can't help but feel more and more on edge with each passing day. The fact that there's a lot of downtime is starting to serve as enhancement to the anxiety and anticipation. Oddly enough I'm beginning to think it's a smart move on Magnus' part, to keep us all waiting for this long. It's certainly making  _me_  worry what grand finale we're building up to and I can only imagine what people out in the districts and in the Capitol are thinking.

We watch the broadcast in silence right up until the very end. Then comes a twist we've all been expecting as Caesar declares it is time to change things up inside the labyrinth. We're treated to a model of how the labyrinth is laid out and as predicted several of the tunnels are being closed. Not only that but new side-tunnels are opening, creating more ways for the tributes to accidentally run into each other. Caesar is practically giddy with admiration for the gamemakers' cleverness because all changes are happening in areas that are currently empty of tributes. In other words nobody inside the arena, I suppose possibly except for the spider, knows the changes are happening. Tributes who think they've mapped out certain tunnels or know roughly where a few of the tunnels lead are in for a surprise.

Half an hour passes. The main feed shows the boy from One making his way through the tunnels in search for a victim, muttering angrily under his breath. He limps slightly, having hurt his knee when he fell over escaping the spider mutt. I feel no sympathy. His so-called allies ended up dead and terribly injured while he ran to save his own skin. I wickedly hope the only tribute he'll run into is the boy from Seven who could easily put up a strong fight using the weapon he got at the feast.

Then the feed suddenly changes and Tommy's face comes on the screen. The dirt he's used to camouflage himself has begun to wear off but he doesn't know it since there's not even a puddle of water to catch your own reflection in. He's moving quietly through a narrow tunnel and I groan inwardly at how I can no longer tell roughly where inside the arena he is. The new layout has made me lose whatever landmarks I once had. I can only hope he's nowhere near the cornucopia. The spider is still there, at least as far as I know, and I want him as far away from that horrid thing as possible.

He stops to take a drink of water and a sound catches his attention. For the benefit of us watching at home or at the tribute's centre the broadcast enhances the audio but it still takes a moment to realize what the sound is. Then we see the source and I close my eyes, feeling sick and desolate. It's the girl from Four, gasping for each breath of air and whimpering, moaning, groaning in agony. She lays flat on her back in the middle of the large tunnel and doesn't seem like she has moved at all since we last saw her. I cannot believe she is still alive. Her torturous pain is impossible not to notice and my thoughts go to her mentors and to her family. What must it be like to watch your child, your sister, your friend suffer like this.

Tommy reaches the spot where his tunnel opens into hers and walks up to her with no hesitation. She poses no threat to him. Her glassy eyes barely seem to recognize him when he stops right beside her, looking down at her. Then he sinks down on his knees and lifts up her head to put it on his lap, shushing her mildly when she utters a trembling howl of agony at the movement.

"What happened?" he asks. "Who did this to you?" He asks as if they weren't inside a Hunger Games arena, as if it was a random crime committed out on the streets. His hand strokes her cheek soothingly.

"Sp… sp… s… spider…" she manages.

Tommy's brow furrows and he seems to think she's delusional. Why would he think otherwise? Her injuries don't look like a spider bite and unless you've seen the beast that stepped on her you could never draw the conclusion that she's talking about something like it.

His hand leaves her cheek and travels carefully down her body, his fingers grazing just above her once beautiful skin, now marred and black and blue. He looks visibly shaken at the state of her, the dent in her sternum making him draw back his hand a little but then he draws a breath and gathers his wits. He finds her trembling hand and holds it tight.

"I'm so sorry" he tells her. "It shouldn't be like this."

She begins to sob, tears falling down her cheeks and her face scrunching up in pain with each sob. He shushes her again, his free hand stroking her brow. Peeta, Haymitch and I stare with wide eyes, none of us having ever seen anything like this before. She's a career. He's been one of her targets from the start. He killed her closest friend in the Games. By all accounts an encounter like this shouldn't take place. Yet it does.

After a few minutes Tommy takes his hand off her brow and reaches inside his bag for his water bottle. He raises his eyebrows and she nods slowly. She takes a deep breath and seems to brace herself, letting out a guttural groan as he lifts her upper body a bit so that she can drink without choking on the water. He holds the bottle to her mouth and allows her as much water as she wants.

"He shouldn't do that" I say.

"Shouldn't do what?" asks Peeta sternly. "Offer a drink of water to a girl in excruciating pain?"

"She's not going to live. He needs that water more."

"You know, sometimes you can just…" He doesn't finish the sentence and I don't ask him to elaborate.

When Tommy helps Ellie lie back down her shoulder grazes against the scythe hanging from his belt. Her eyes go to it and then she looks up at our nephew.

"Please" she says and there is no doubt what she is asking of him.

He doesn't answer her at first, making sure she's comparatively comfortable. I can see in his eyes and on his face that he understands her request perfectly well and he seems to be pondering it. In my mind there can be only one answer. I remember Cato and his suffering and how it took no hesitation to shoot that arrow at him. I knew I wasn't ending his life so much as I was ending his suffering. His life was over anyway and the question at that point was merely how much he should have to be tormented before it was all over. It's the same now for Ellie. Maybe if she got medical attention she could pull through but there is none to be had. She was dead the moment the spider's leg made impact and she knows it.

"I can't do that" says Tommy finally and at first I think I must be hearing him wrong.

"You have to" she begs, her voice barely holding up. Another tear falls down her face. "Please."

He turns his face away for a second, looking forlorn. Then he draws a deep breath and looks her in the eye.

"I just can't."

"What is he doing?" I ask, my voice rising with alarm. "Why is he even hesitating?"

"It's not so easy to do it" argues Peeta.

"Are you kidding me? It's cruel,  _inhumane_  even  _not to_.  _You_  did it for that girl the careers tortured. I did it for Cato. Tommy already has taken a life and this time it would be an act of mercy."

"Slicing her throat with a small scythe while she lays on his lap. That's what we're talking about here."

"Ending what could be hours or even  _days_  more of what she's suffering right now,  _that's_  what we're talking about."

"It's up to Tommy. If he can't do it I can't blame him."

"You are both idiots, then" I scoff. "Not doing it is the worst possible choice. It's awful for her and it makes him seem weak."

"Not everything is about procuring sponsors, Katniss" snarls Peeta, his tone harsh enough that I recoil.

"That's enough out of both of you" says Haymitch. "The choice is Tommy's."

"It's a mistake" I say, hiding my face in my hands, trying to will the image of that poor girl out of my mind. "It's a mistake. It's going to haunt him."

In the arena Tommy shifts a bit to sit more comfortably, his hand still holding Ellie's. Her eyes are fixated on him and she's begun to tremble more.

"I don't want to die" she manages.

"I know."

"I want it to be over."

"I know that too."

She closes her eyes for a minute and then opens them again, frantically searching until she remembers Tommy's face is above hers. She looks up at him again and somehow he manages a comforting smile.

"Don't leave me alone."

"I'll stay" he promises. She whimpers loudly and he begins to stroke her forehead again, rocking slowly from side to side. "It's alright" he says, bizarre words under the circumstance but what else can he say? "It's okay. You've been so brave."

They sit like that for a while. I think it's almost an hour that goes by and even though she appears to be growing progressively weaker she clings to life with impressive fervour. Since Tommy won't end her life for her she seems to have gone over to not wanting it to end at all. She has never seemed more human than at this time, all the career mannerisms and haughtiness wiped away, leaving nothing but a frightened dying child.

At long last Tommy says her name and lifts their joined hands to rest just below where her horrible bruise ends.

"It's alright" he tells her. "You've done good. You've brought pride to your district. You fought bravely."

His words seem ludicrous. What does any of that matter right now? How can bringing pride to your district by being an efficient killer be spoken as a compliment, an achievement to be applauded? But even though I don't understand why he's saying these things, or why he hasn't ended her suffering, I can't help but love him and be proud of him. It's like watching Peeta in the Games all over again, that same kindness and compassion. A smarter tribute would have run away a long time ago. He's terribly exposed just sitting there with a dying girl on his lap, especially since the gamemakers have made the torches on the wall burn brighter so that we all can see everything that happens. The only rational thing to do is to have honoured her request and put an end to her misery and then taken shelter. Yet he just sits there with her, a girl who was his mortal enemy until this encounter.

"It's okay Ellie" says Tommy softly, reassuringly. "It's okay to let go."

She keeps looking at him like he's her lifeline, and perhaps right now he is. Her hand squeezes his in a cramped fashion and then almost seems to go limp. Her tortured, ragged breaths begin to come further and further apart. Tommy leans down and manages to reach her forehead with his lips, pressing a soothing kiss to her brow. He pulls back up and their eyes meet one more time and then she doesn't see anything anymore.

He stays frozen in that same position for close to fifteen minutes after the canon has sounded. Then he gets up, his joints stiff, and he picks her up in his arms. I don't know why he does it but he carries her into the narrow tunnel he came from, shielding her from plain sight. After he's laid her down he looks through her belongings and takes what he can have use of. He stops and stands there out in the larger tunnel for a moment, looking at her in silence. I think I see a tear falling down his cheek. Then he sighs and turns, walking down the tunnel in the direction of the cornucopia.

* * *

 

I can't sleep. I spend an hour tossing and turning until I hear Peeta grumpily asking me if I feel like getting up for some hot milk, then I try my best to lie still. He's lying on his stomach tonight, a sign that he doesn't want much physical contact, no doubt because I criticized Tommy's choice not to kill that girl. It's fine by me. I stand by my statement that our nephew behaved like an idiot and I think Peeta is being an idiot about it too.

After a while I realize that my questioning of Tommy's decision might not be the reason why Peeta wants space. I remember the earlier discussion about the water he gave away and Peeta's disapproval of  _my_  disapproval. I turn my head and look at my husband, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with each breath. How he's managed to fall asleep after tonight's event I'll never know. It suddenly irritates me that he might be lying on his stomach because I thought Tommy should have saved his water for himself. The implication, at least in my mind, is that I'm heartless when I believe I am anything but. I don't even care that I'm not in the mood for physical contact either, the principle bothers me and so I reach out my hand and give him a shove. He wakes with a snort and lifts his head groggily.

"If Tommy doesn't find another supply station or get a big nice donation from a sponsor he's going to get dehydrated real soon."

"What?" asks Peeta, still half asleep.

"The water bottle" I clarify. "He should not have given any to Ellie." A thought occurs to me and I immediately share it with him. "In fact he might have ended up prolonging her suffering."

"Yeah, well maybe his actions tonight made people want to sponsor him" replies Peeta drowsily, shifting to look at me more easily. It's dark in the room but I can still see how sleepy he is.

"Or he won't get any at all. People might choose to  _not_  sponsor him because he didn't have the decency to end her suffering."

"Are you saying my brother's little boy isn't decent?" He shifts again, propping himself up on his elbow, glaring at me.

"I don't know if he thought he was being kind but the end result was that she lived in that horrible state for longer than she needed to."

"You don't think Tommy is decent?"

"You know what I mean, Peeta" I deflate. How did I end up taking the conversation to this place when what I wanted to do was not feel bad over the water issue?

"Look" he sighs. "Whether or not he should have given her water is… Well it's a question without a definite answer. Nobody knows if hurt her more than it helped her but I for one find it comforting that in the midst of all the other things that tortured her at least thirst was crossed off the list."

"I think it was the wrong way to go. He could have put her out of her misery instead. It's what she wanted. He knew she wasn't going to live. He may feel right now that he did the right thing but I guarantee you that once dehydration sets in-"

" _If_  that happens Tommy will still feel he did the right thing" says Peeta calmly. He's fully awake now but at least not irritated. "You know this."

Giving it some thought, I realize I do. That's what those Mellark boys are like. Deep down I have to admit to myself that I probably wouldn't have been able to deny that girl water either. Suddenly I feel terrible for having felt that he should. I exhale in a huff and stare at the ceiling, wondering what is wrong with me. This isn't like me. Has the stress of one of my loved ones being in the arena really made me so callous that I no longer care that other tributes suffer?

I feel the bed dip as Peeta shifts beside me and then he's right next to me, his body aligning to mine and his hand coming to rest on my stomach, just above the waistband of my pyjama pants.

"It frustrates you to be so powerless."

"No shit" I mutter, feeling strangely close to tears. I don't know how much longer I can stand this situation we are in. I don't want to see our nephew trapped in that arena one more minute and just like Peeta I'm beginning to worry how this experience will change him. It certainly seems to have changed me. How could I have been so annoyed that he gave a tormented, dying girl water? "If anyone is indecent here it's me."

"Quite the opposite" says Peeta.

"It seriously bothered me that he wasted his water on her." I take my eyes off the ceiling and look at Peeta. "What kind of a person does that?"

"One who wants nothing more than for the young man she loves to come through the Games and return home to us."

"Yeah well…" I scoff and look up at the ceiling again. "There are still ten more tributes that need to die before he can come home. Ten more people I have to wish dead. Sally included. All the while I can't do anything to help Tommy."

"What he did this evening… It may have been prolonging her suffering not to cut her throat but if you can't do it you can't do it. What he did, though, sitting there with her, comforting her… In that terrible situation he managed to hold on to the good inside of him. He's been affected by the death of that other girl and now I think he found a piece of himself that he lost that day."

"Because he's like you."

"No Katniss…" Peeta's lips land on my cheek, my nose and then my mouth. I look at him and I'm comforted by what I see. "Who do you think inspired him to do what he did?"

"Nobody. He's a Mellark. You people are either like your mother or like you. Kind and nurturing."

"He stayed with her tonight because of you."

"Nice try" I say dryly. "If you want to try and make me feel better at least go with something that could possibly have a smidgen of truth."

"He may not have covered her in flowers after her death and he may not have sung to her but he was doing what his aunt would have done. You can be sure of that."

Memories of Rue suddenly fill my mind, as clear as if her death had happened yesterday. It's still painful, all these years later. It's still so wasteful, so inhumane and wrong. But even with the fresh wave of grief that her name brings tonight I feel comforted. I can actually believe that Peeta is right. I'm not as sure of it as he seems to be but it's not beyond the realm of possibility. Tommy may not have been born yet when I watched life leave Rue but he's heard about it and even seen it once on television, even though it's a clip they hate to show.

I wrap my arms around Peeta's neck and pull him down to me, burying my face against his comforting warmth. He shifts a little and then pulls me closer, wrapping me in his embrace like a warm and comforting cocoon.

"You may not be able to help him physically in there" whispers Peeta in my ear. "But helping him hold on to his humanity, to who he truly is, is just as important. Otherwise what does it matter if he is crowned victor if all that he was when he went in stays in that dreadful labyrinth?"

"Thank you" I whisper back.

"Thank  _you_ " he answers.

With Peeta's arms wrapped around me and his left thigh draped across my legs I bury my face against his skin and realize how exhausted I am. His hand cradles the back of my head and I whimper quietly, pulling him just a little bit closer.

It doesn't take me long to fall asleep after that. Despite everything I make it through the entire night without nightmares and when I wake up I'm still enveloped in Peeta's comforting presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Tommy not performing a mercy kill, this is something I find somewhat interesting. I'd like to say that I would be able to put a person out of their misery if I knew they were suffering and wouldn't survive but I'm definitely not sure I would be able to bring myself to do it. Tommy, unlike me, actually has killed someone before but that doesn't mean it would be easy for him. I don't know what you guys think but I find it's an interesting grey area even though it might seem black and white at first glance.

**Author's Note:**

> My basic plan for this story is to have every other chapter being set in "present day" and every other chapter going back in time starting around the time of the wedding, detailing the things that have happend in-between the 74th and 91st Games. Ideally those chapters would eventually catch up to the first chapter.  
> I've got about half a dozen bits of chapters sitting on my computer though no real outline (or determined ending for that matter). If I continue with this then updates might be rather infrequent and I can't guarantee that it will actually be concluded. Sounds appealing, right?  
> Feedback is of course much appreciated.


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